Juxtaposed
by Lady Fountainhead
Summary: Merilyn Stark was never supposed to leave the North. Jaime Lannister was never supposed to take a wife. Both are forced to do the unthinkable. Jaime/OC. Set in AU.
1. Chapter 1

Merilyn tossed the piece of wood towards the river again, watching Luna chase after it tirelessly. A chill was settling along the ground, bringing the grey fog that haunted, or protected, the North. The King would be arriving on such a beautiful day, she thought wryly to herself, glancing habitually towards the horizon as if expecting the court of King's Landing to suddenly appear in her home of Winterfell. She smiled as her direwolf appeared in front of her silently and wished she could learn Luna's subtlety.

"Mer!" A voice called across the river, behind her, "Merilyyyyyn!" The voice jumped several octaves with each emphasis upon her name. She rolled her eyes and smiled indulgently at her older brother's calling.

"I'm here, Robb," she called and saw him appear suddenly from the trees.

He smiled at her, "Jon bet me I couldn't find you."

"If I didn't want to be found, you wouldn't have," she huffed airily, "You're not done teaching Bran archery, yet? No one learns that quickly."

"No one besides Arya," Robb fell into step beside her as they trampled their way through the forest, "She's purposely infuriating Bran to the point of giving up on archery forever. He asked for a break from today's lessons, anyway."

Merilyn laughed, "Arya should've been the boy and Bran the girl. He seems to enjoy watching the loom well enough."

"Aye," Robb said sadly and she turned to him.

"What's wrong, Robb?" His step faltered and he returned her look.

"You always know when something's up," he paused and kicked a stone, "Bran saw his first execution today, a deserter from the Wall, rambling about White Walkers and dead Wildings. He did well, no flinching or feeling ill. Father was proud. It was sad though, knowing that Bran is old enough to see such things."

"You saw your first execution at seven, brother. Bran is three namedays older than that," they resumed walking without conference, "Did you believe the deserter was a mad man? White Walkers have been gone for a thousand years according to Septa Mordane."

Robb scoffed, "Of course, he was mad, Mer. White Walkers are gone and are never returning, you know that."

"'Tis still strange to think about, White Walkers. Don't let Rickon hear anything about this, Robb. He had night terrors for weeks after Theon's last tale of the Wildlings. I want him to hear nothing of this White Walkers nonsense."

Robb laughed, "You sound more like Mother every day, little sister."

She rolled her eyes and ignored whatever else he said. Robb was only older than her by ten months. Many people in Winterfell believed them to be twins in their natures, though they looked nothing alike, what with Robb's dark hair and northern countenance and Merilyn's Tully eyes and light red hair. They both had the seriousness of their father and no-nonsense attitude of their mother. Quiet and prideful, the two eldest siblings of the Stark household were the responsible, simple ones who favored the other above anyone else in the North. This was plain fact. While Robb embraced his brothers wholly, including Jon Snow and Theon Greyjoy – both brothers by bond instead of full blood, and Merilyn cherished her perfect lady Sansa and rebellious Arya, they always tended towards the other as playmates when young and confidantes and advisors as they aged.

"Why do you think King Robert is making the journey North?" She asked suddenly, stroking Luna's fur as they stopped by the Godswood.

Robb shrugged and turned away slowly, looking towards Winterfell's keep, "I don't think anyone knows for certain."

"But there have been rumors, have there not?"

"Mer," he sighed, "there are always rumors surrounding what the Court does. What exactly are you asking?"

She looked at her feet, at Luna, at the Godswood, and then finally at his feet, "there's been a rumor of a marriage being arranged. Between you and one of the court ladies. Surely, you've heard that."

"Aye, but that's not a surprise. Think about it. I'm going on seventeen, heir to Winterfell, of course, marriage is inevitable, dear sister."

She rolled her eyes, "But a woman from the South?"

"Mother was from the South. She adapted well to Winterfell. It's just a rumor; Mer. Father will let me pick my Lady Wife when the time comes. We'll find out the reason for their visit soon enough. Why don't we go back and watch the chaos unfold? There's no one more off-put by this visit than Mother." He smiled and gestured back to the castle. She grinned and called for Luna and they three set back off for the structure that they called home.

* * *

The arrival was gaudy and loud, in Merilyn's opinion. Southern women were vastly overdone and the men were arrogant looking and too well groomed. The King himself was fat and irritatingly loud, and looked over Winterfell with an air of familiarity that he should not have had. Her father greeted the King happily, while Catelyn Stark hid her contempt for the King under the surface well.

When the King and Eddard Stark had retreated to the tombs of Winterfell, to visit Aunt Lyanna Robb had whispered, Catelyn had flown into her gracious host mode, showing everyone into the Great Hall and directing people to rooms. Jon crept up behind Merilyn and startled her by whispering in her ear.

"You see how the Queen looks upon our home as if she smells something foul in the air? It has been said she despises Winterfell for being the home of a dead woman the King still loves."

The woman Jon was observing did look on at the scene distastefully, as if she held everything about her in contempt and Merilyn felt an immediate dislike for her. Queen Cersei was both tall and beautiful, everything the stories they were told of King's Landing said. The blonde Lannister hair shone in a pile atop her head and her dress fit her perfectly, lining etched with gold speaking of the Lannister fortune, both legacies announced in one glance at the Queen.

"How could you possibly know the Queen's dislikes, Jon?" She looked up at her half-brother, who looked more Stark than any of her, other siblings, with fondness. Even though her own mother despised him, she could never bring herself to feel likewise and loved him the same as Rickon or Sansa.

He smiled, "I do hear a lot more sitting with the men of Winterfell than you do sitting with your Septa and Lady Mother, Little Mer."

"I am older than you. You cannot keep calling me 'little' when I am older than you, Jon."

"That has never been proven, _little _girl," he grinned widely, "Anyway, look, there's the Imp!" He pointed across the room at the man Merilyn assumed to be Tyrion Lannister, the half man of King's Landing.

"Hush, Jon, don't name him that. I hear he loathes that title." She looked at the small man who was standing by several of the horses. He was observing his surroundings, Merilyn concluded, without being obvious about it. Not that anyone was paying him much attention anyway. He, at least, didn't look about Winterfell as if was a dung heap to be avoided like his sister Queen had done.

A man with golden hair and a haughty face strode up to Tyrion and leaned down to converse with him. She looked at Jon and opened her mouth to ask his identity but he cut her off.

"Jaime Lannister, the Queen's twin brother, heir to Casterly Rock and Captain of the Kingsguard. He's the one they call Kingslayer."

She raised an eyebrow, remembering the story of the Knight who had killed the Mad King, "I thought Kingsguard wore gold cloaks? His is white."

Jon shrugged, "Maybe it is dirty. He doesn't seem the type to abide mud upon his clothes."

Merilyn giggled into her hand, "None of the southern men do, Jon. Maybe there is no dirt where they come from?"

Jon laughed quietly with her, "I'm sure they find it gravely insulting anytime a speck appears upon their persons without permission."

She shushed him as both Lannister men looked over hearing their giggling. The taller one, Jaime, she remembered, looked at her oddly and Tyrion glanced from her back to his brother. Jon suddenly took her arm and led her into the castle. She felt curious about the Lannister brothers suddenly, but felt it fade as Arya collided with her as Bran chased closely behind her. She scolded the two and stopped their fighting, resuming her everyday life comfortably.

* * *

Eddard Stark looked at Robert Baratheon in complete shock. His brain ticked, trying desperately to comprehend what his good friend had just suggested, was it even a suggestion? It wasn't possible.

"Surely you aren't serious? She's hardly old enough for marriage."

Robert waved a hand, "Nonsense, she's sixteen. She's been old enough for two years, Ned. It's a good match."

"A good match? He's in the Kingsguard, Your Grace, they're sworn to take no wife, if I'm correct?"

"I've released him. He's heir to Casterly Rock and Tywin won't last long. I need a way to control the Lannisters, to have a better hold, Ned. You understand, don't you?"

Ned shook his head, "You're married to a Lannister! That's the perfect way to control someone, marrying directly into their family."

"Tywin wants to marry him to the Tyrells. That's the richest family besides the Lannisters, and the Throne is already struggling not to become in debt to either of them. A marriage between the two would cut all power I still have. I need him to be married to a family I trust not to manipulate the Crown further. Starks have been and always will be my allies."

"It will kill her mother to send her away, to send her south. Merilyn isn't accustomed to your Southern world. She's a Stark, the North runs through her veins. It isn't smart."

"It's brilliant. And you know it, Ned. A marriage between House Stark and House Lannister is brilliant. And then, a few years from now, your other daughter will come of age and House Baratheon and Stark will unite."

Ned blinked slowly, "You're not giving me a choice, are you?"

Robert Baratheon clapped him on the back once, "Let's go up to feast. We can announce it in the morning, and then make for Casterly Rock to see this through."

"It will be here, in Winterfell. That much I will demand, your Grace."

Robert shrugged, "As long as this happens, Ned, I have no qualms."

"I will talk to Catelyn," Ned looked at the tombs surrounding them, "I will talk to Catelyn and then give you our answer."


	2. Chapter 2

Cersei took a deep draught from her glass, emptying it for the third time this night. Even a mention of this cursed wasteland drove her to wine, and now she was in Winterfell and drowning in cups. She had always wondered what fool would willingly inhabit this hellhole. The answer was the miserable cunts that let their brats roll in the dirt along with the animals and wore the fur of those very same animals.

The door creaked open and Cersei's male face walked in. Jaime looked from her to the wine glass and raised an eyebrow. She rolled her eyes and turned back to the window.

"Did my wonderful Lord Husband have anything of particular interest to impart to you tonight?"

Jaime leaned over the chair and kissed her neck softly, "It isn't smart to overindulge, Cersei. Not while we're here, under observation."

"And, yet, here you are, dear brother, in my chamber, late at night," she in turn raised her eyebrow at him. He backed away from her, lips pressed into a thin line and fingered his belt where his sword normally hung. Cersei gulped wine again, smoothing her hair, irritated.

"King Robert has informed Lord Stark of the… arrangement. It will be announced during tomorrow night's feast."

"And Lord Wolf made no objections?" Another drink. She would give them credit at least for their wine was good.

Jaime leaned against the window and peered out towards the lights of Winterfell's keep, "All he asked was the wedding takes place in their home. Which works even more in Baratheon's favor, as this way our father won't have time to object."

"How poetic, the lion and wolf married at Winterfell, the den of wolves." Cersei looked up at her brother and Jaime imagined misery or despair in her eyes. He leaned forward and captured her mouth with his. He was trying to be soft, gentle, but Cersei never had any of that. She surged forward and roughly sucked his bottom lip drawing a moan from him. She tasted of deep-spiced wine and honey and he could happily drunk from this cup for eternity. But this time, he pulled away.

"Let's leave, right now, Cersei. Forget Winterfell and Kings Landing. Forget Robert and the Stark girl. Just you and I, away from everything and everyone." His breath was harsh and his chest rose and fell heavily.

She stared at him for a moment, before letting out a harsh laugh, "Now when you're confronted with an arrange marriage, you come up with plan of escape. Oh, no, Jaime, you'll suffer the same as me. Leaving isn't an option. Robert will not be around much longer if he continues in the same lifestyle and I will not abandon Joffery. He will take the throne and I will be there to see it." Her voice had steadily risen and was now at shouting pitch. She stood up and shoved him away from her, "I've suffered seventeen years and will not give it all up at the turn of the tide, because you're afraid of a sixteen year old girl."

Jaime had become more accustomed to her recent outbursts. The stress of motherhood and Queen's reign had driven her to delve deeper into wine cups and aimless fury. The best way back into her good graces was apologies and often flattery, but tonight was different. He hadn't come to comfort her. He had come to be comforted. He knew it was pointless to continue conversation when she was obviously furious about more than just his suggestion of flight. He turned on his heel and strode from the room.

He would find Tyrion and they would drown in their own wine as well.

* * *

Arya and Merilyn were curled up in bed, whispering quietly. All the girls had shared a room at one point; until Sansa insisted upon her own now that she was nearly a woman. Merilyn had always found her sisters' presences comforting and never wished for her own.

"Sansa thinks Prince Joffery is handsome," Arya looked at her sister uncomfortably and shook her head, "I don't."

Merilyn stroked Arya's dark hair back, "Sansa finds Joffery favorable because he is a Prince. Our sister dreams of finding the knights and princes of Old in her own life."

Arya made a blech noise and snuggled closer into the mattress, yawning, "I'd rather be a knight than find one."

"And what a valiant knight you would be, Arya!" Merilyn laughed. There was a knock on the door and Merilyn called for them to enter. Their mother walked in, smiling as she saw both her daughters in bed and half asleep. Her smile turned sad as she looked at her eldest daughter.

Merilyn's birth had been the hardest of all her six children. Maybe it had been because her body wasn't ready for another child, but Catelyn could not resist giving her husband and lord one final goodbye before he left her to wage war with Baratheon. In his absence, he had received a daughter through a labor of a full day and insurmountable pain. But her beautiful, kind, perfect daughter had been worth the entire struggle for Catelyn. She had watched her grow into a woman, and now would watch her as she was sent away from home, from everything her young daughter held dear and knew. Tears pricked her eyes and she steeled herself quickly, kissing both her daughters good night. She would let Merilyn Alayne Stark have a final night as a carefree child before tomorrow's nightmare.

Ned had spared no moments relaying King Robert's brilliant plan to Catelyn.

"It's absurd, Cat. She's hardly a woman and Jaime Lannister has long since been a child. He's almost our own age! She would be forced to leave the North. I cannot agree to that." He paced in front of the fire as Catelyn observed him from their bed.

"Ned, think about what you're saying. All her life, we – her parents have been preparing her for this very thing, marriage. And now she is promised a very, very promising arrangement! You cannot think to forgo this and marry her to some farmer of the North."

"At least with a farmer of the North, she would be safe!" Ned roared, angrily.

Cat stood up and placed a hand upon her Lord Husband's arm, "Merilyn is a Stark, strong and noble, like the line you've come from. She is brave and deserves more than a simple man from a small town. This gives Winterfell stability, a tie to the Lannisters. Do you imagine Jaime Lannister will murder her in her sleep or something?"

Ned took a deep breath, "I just cannot believe this is what we have come to. That our children are the game pieces of other's battle."

"That's how it's always been. I was given to the Starks and my mother to the Tullys. And now Merilyn will become a Lannister and do us proud."

Ned had left to go to the Godswood after that. Catelyn knew he would not ever come to terms with this marriage in the private mind of Eddard Stark – the father, but Eddard Stark – Lord of Winterfell would concede. Even though Ned had said he thought of Robert Baratheon as a brother, the King was still the King and thought this match better than any other her parents could arrange for her. And Ned's duty to his King and the Seven Kingdoms came above all else. She would soothe him in the morning light, telling him it would not be the loss of a daughter. Merilyn would not be abandoned or forgotten.

Silently, Catelyn stood and looked into her chest that was hidden at the bed's foot. Inside were keepsakes from her past: each child's blanket she had sewn during her carrying of them, locks of her children's hair, odd toys that she had saved from the fire, and there at the bottom was her own wedding dress she had worn oh so many years ago.

She pulled it out and thought of her husband and how her marriage had been arranged as well. She'd been betrothed to Ned's brother first, had known nothing of young Eddard Stark until his brother, her betrothed's death, and then in a whirlwind of madness had found herself married to this stranger. They had learned, had grown together.

Was it wrong to wish the same kindness she had found in her marriage bed on her daughter?


	3. Chapter 3

Merilyn woke with sunlight streaming in her window. Arya lay fast asleep to her left; one arm thrown over face and her body sprawled among the furs. Merilyn slid out from bed and stretched lithely, pulling her shift off and stepping into her small clothes. She laced her dress on quickly and plaited her hair back, stepping from the room silently as possible. Arya hardly slept in and Merilyn refused to be yelled at for stomping around the room like a boar yet again. She walked downstairs into the Hall, finding breakfast lay out on the table. Robb and Bran were laughing over Cook's regular porridge and she dropped down beside them. She ruffled Bran's hair and stole an apple while he was protesting her manhandling of him.

"Mother was looking for you earlier, Mer," Robb took the stolen apple from her hand and bit into it. She protested but he talked over her outrage, "don't waste time. Up you go to her chambers. Trot along, now."

She growled, irritated and stormed away from the table, throwing a dark look at her now laughing elder brother. She nearly ran up the stairway and reached her mother's room swiftly. She knocked twice and entered, greeting both her mother and surprisingly her father. Her chest tightened as she saw his face. He looked as he had when informing her that her favorite horse had died.

"Sit, Merilyn," her mother, gestured towards the chairs at the table, with a smile that looked strange while her father wore such a frosty countenance. Merilyn felt her own smile falter as she sat down watching both her parents.

Catelyn glanced at Ned before smiling even more widely at her, "We have some wonderful news for you, dearest," another glance towards Ned, "King Robert has arranged a marriage for you and we've agreed to it."

Merilyn straightened up slightly and nodded cautiously, "that is good news, Mother." Her father still hadn't turned around, his back towards them. "And, ohm, King Baratheon suggested the match?" Her mind was trying to comprehend what was going on. It had been her assumption that she would marry a Northern, would stay in the North with Robb, the two Stark children whose blood ran like ice many times. Brann and Sansa, Arya and Rickon, they would venture South. But a marriage arrangement specifically deigned by their King would mean something different, a political match.

"Yes, my sweet. It's an honor for our house to be linked to the Lannister family. The King himself requested you, and we are quite thrilled by the opportunity."

She hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath. It came out in one gust, "I'm to marry Tyrion Lannister?"

Only then did her father turn and face her, "You're to be wedded to Jaime Lannister, the heir of Castlerly Rock." His face was expressionless, so much that anyone else would think he didn't care at all about these recent events, but there was tension in his jaw and the clench of his hand.

"I see." Merilyn nodded, although she did anything but see how this was possible, "I see. I'm honored that the King thought of me." Her voice felt small and insignificant, as the roaring in her ears grew louder with each passing second. Is this what feeling faint was like?

Her mother's mouth was moving, saying something about how much of an honor it really was. Her father's countenance stayed the same, while observing her intensely. Was he waiting for an outburst, tears maybe? That was ridiculous. She was a Stark and she had known this day was coming. She was honored, most definitely. The Lannisters were one of the most, if not the most, powerful families in the Seven Kingdoms and she was to be wed into their fold. "When is the betrothal to be set?" She looked up to her father.

Her parents exchanged glances and Catelyn took a deep breath, "Merilyn, darling, the wedding is to take place this coming morrow. The King has been generous enough to break tradition and allow the wedding to be held here, in Winterfell."

Her mother had spoken more after the word morrow, but Merilyn hadn't heard it. She was sure this was what faint felt like. Why was there no warning of this? This wasn't normal. Every other girl in Winterfell that had been married had had betrothals, she was certain. Her mother was still babbling, something about dresses this time. Merilyn couldn't tell if she was forcing the cheer or not, but either way she was trapped in a discussion of frivolities about this wedding.

A grueling two hours later, Merilyn had finally escaped to the Godswood. She felt safe here. The Old Gods presences existed here, she was certain. She inhaled the smell of earth and cold. Her thoughts were a whirl of confusion and disarray. The stories she had heard of Castlerly Rock described caves and caverns, cliffs and sea salted water, a foreign southern world. And what of the heir of Castlerly Rock himself? All she knew of Jaime Lannister was the Kingslayer title he'd been given. Merilyn was not Sansa. She had no cares for beautiful knights and heroes in stories, but neither was she Arya. Merilyn wanted to be her mother, a well-loved Lady by both people and husband. She wanted kindness. Would he be kind? Or would he be like Winterfell's blacksmith whose wife bore the marks of his anger often for nothing she had done. She wondered again why she had been chosen, obviously for political reasons, but which ones? The Stark household had never been known for being power hungry, while the Lannisters were well known for that trait. Why was the King concerned about the Lannister heir now? She gave a short laugh; did it really even matter why the King was concerned with Jaime Lannister? She was marrying him tomorrow.

Jaime walked into the Great Hall, not knowing exactly what to expect from tonight. It was already full of half-drunk men with women on their laps and the Stark family was dutifully seated. His eyes slid over the woman, he scoffed at the title, which he was to be wed to. She was chatting animatedly to the Elder Stark. Jaime couldn't remember his name. Her animation bothered him as he had expected tears and sulking. Another thought shocked him and he found himself praying to all Seven that she was not actually excited to be getting married to him. A sullen wife he could handle, for he had grown up from birth with the most difficult woman on the planet, but he could not handle an eager wife. For surely an eager wife would expect him to play the doting, devoted husband. He snorted aloud at trying to picture himself in that role.

Tyrion held out a flagon for him, reading his mind like he so often did.

"To be announced tonight?" His younger brother guessed.

"How'd you know?" Jaime half-raised his glass in salute to Tyrion's genius assumption.

"My dear brother, you're as white as a ghost and tension is practically reeking from your very form. There's nothing to be afraid of, she's a pretty virgin. The Seven know what I would give for a night in a virgin's bed."

"Quit trying to cheer me up. It's well known you wouldn't touch a virgin if she crawled into your bed in the middle of the night. You prefer experience over innocence, you've told me so very many times."

"Well, then there's only one thing left for you to do, brother. Drink up and drink well!" Tyrion, in turn, raised his glass for Jaime.

Jaime shook his head, "the last thing I need is to be drunk tonight. I'll save it for the next night. Everyone's drunk at weddings."

"You know, it's been said she's clever. She's obviously pretty. She's young and fertile. I honestly cannot fathom your disgust at the arrangement. It's better than any of the Frey girls." Tyrion shuddered dramatically.

"I specifically joined the Kingsguard to avoid this situation. The last thing I need at Castlerly Rock is a woman running around, clinging to my arm, and getting in my every way."

"Because all marriages resemble what you just described," Tyrion raised an eyebrow, "She's a Stark. They're not known for their… clinginess."

"You know a lot about Starks, Tyrion, but less about women. They're all the same."

"I cannot fathom where your dislike of the female sex came from. I find them to be amiable, and soft, very soft. That would be my favorite attribute of theirs. Why, look at her, even now she puts on a brave face because duty is calling her for a higher purpose. She will marry a man she has no knowledge of - beyond his infamous slaying of a king. She will lay with a man almost twice her own age and bear his children, as is expected of her. She will hardly ever see her own family, instead spend time running the strange man's castle and raising her own babes. Some may die and she will know a broken heart. Her Lord Husband will never look at her in fondness, and will instead forever love a shadow of a woman, one she could never hope to outshine. She will be lonely. She will be sad. She will never know the love her parents share or the happiness of a blessed marriage. And do you realize, Jaime, my wonderful older brother, do you realize that she, herself, knows all of this? The girl is no fool and knows exactly what this marriage entails. Yet, here she is, smiling still and pretending that all is right in the Seven Kingdoms."

Jaime took the flagon Tyrion had offered him earlier and drank heavily from it. The longing in Tyrion's voice unsettled him and laid a guilty feeling across his chest. Tyrion would've enjoyed this life Jaime was given. The endless whores and false bravado didn't conceal the fact that Tyrion wanted normalcy and would've given anything to have what his brother saw as punishment. Jaime blamed the gods once again for their sick sense of humor. He also refused to think further on Tyrion's epiphany. He would not pity the girl or admire her, as Tyrion seemed to. The girl was nothing more than a nuisance being forced upon him.

And then there was King Robert's signal.


	4. Chapter 4

The Lord of the Realm stood alongside Lord Eddard and waved to Jaime. Masking his face with indifference, Jaime rose and joined the two men at the head of the room. The tension practically oozed from the Lord of the North and Jaime felt himself smirk. At least, he wasn't the only one doing this against his will. He doubted Stark was thrilled about his first daughter being wed to the Kingslayer.

Stark spoke then, "King Robert has given us some very honoring news! My daughter, Merilyn Alayne is to be wed to Jaime Lannister on the morrow." His voice echoed throughout the hall and not a single syllable betrayed his unhappiness at this blessing. He then gestured for his daughter to come to his side.

Merilyn rose confidently and stood straight-backed alongside her father, looking proudly into the room and placing her hand into her fathers.

"The House Stark is proud and honored that such an arrangement has been made. For his generosity is much, the King has also granted the ceremony is to be held here in the homes of the North's forefathers and our great ancestors."

The roar of the hall was deafening. Most, Jaime knew, were thinking of the food and ale that is customary at wedding ceremonies, but others he saw were faking any sign of celebration. Her brother, the one she'd been talking to earlier, was stone faced as he clapped and the little girl, Areea, Areana, or whatever was looking at the floor.

Ned signaled to the Hall for silence and it was suddenly even more stifling than the cheering had been. The ward of Winterfell, Greyjoy, placed a ceremonial knife in Ned's hand and Jaime felt his stomach roll.

Merilyn turned so that she was face to face with Ser Jaime. She wondered what she was supposed to be feeling, sick maybe? All she felt was a strange numbness. None of this could be real in her mind. But in some strange dream she saw flash through her head, her father took the knife and gestured for them to take hands. Their hands met, his surer than hers, both hands cool and dry. Her father was speaking. She knew the old incantation by heart, but at this moment couldn't possibly relay it.

She felt a small shock as a thumb caressed her hand. She glanced down and then into Jaime's face and saw a smirk painted upon his face. He was pushing her, teasing her for what? She gazed straight into his face without blinking. Robb and Jon often played this game, to see who got to ride the better horse when they were little. Her father then handed the blessed knife to Jaime, who took it confidently. He whispered the old poem, about the man pledging his life to this woman, about the man consuming the blood of his betrothed to be forever joined, about love and life. After he finished reciting, he sliced her palm. She'd tried tremendously hard, but gasped anyway at the parting of her skin by the steel.

Crimson liquid pooled upwards and without a look of disgust on his face, like so many Southerners who's forced participations in Northern rituals soured their delicate stomachs, he brought her palm up to his mouth and kissed gently, his tongue delicately sliding across the cut, bringing another softer gasp from her. The warmth of his tongue belayed the cold of the knife and she felt an odd swooping sensation in her stomach.

Then it was her turn and she forced the words out. Her voice hardly reached a whisper, but she managed it, pledging to be his other half, consuming her beloved's blood to fulfill the connection, she recited it all confidently and without falter. Her hands slightly shook as she positioned the knife over his hand and cut into it. The same crimson that sprung forth from her own hand seeped out and she brought it to her lips. It was coppery and tangy on her mouth and she mimicked his earlier motions and flicked her tongue out tasting more copper. She stepped back and stood tall again. Her father finished the ceremony, saying how blood was the strongest bond humans had and blood would always come before all other ties. Ancient laws now tied the two together and no other person could ever break this bond.

She looked at this man who she supposedly shared a bond with and saw cold taunting eyes staring back. She fought back a shiver. She glanced back one time as she returned to her seat, but he'd already returned to his own seat beside his deformed brother. There was cheering in the halls and people congratulating the families.

Her own brother's face almost made her stop in her steps. He was furious, that much was certain. She dropped into her seat, ignoring his pointed glare and grabbed a rag from the table, clumsily trying to tie it to her still-bleeding hand.

Robb's hands covered her own and he took the rag from her, securely tying it around her wound, taking care to be gentle.

"When did you know?" He asked, busying himself with her hand still.

"This morning," her voice was dull and lifeless, she could hear it, but was too drained suddenly to care.

"And you're content with that? This is what you'd like?" He sounded incredulous.

"It's not a matter of wants, Robb. It's not a pet horse that I get to choose. We knew a betrothal would have to be made soon. I'd not fancy myself an old crone." She smiled wryly, "It could be far worse. Nelda was saying Ser Rodrick of Linlock is searching for a wife."

"He's at least Northern," Robb said stubbornly.

"He's also at least fifty name days and has almost no teeth, Robb."

"Ser Jaime is the Kings-"

"Enough, Robb. Did you see what happened out there? Do you see my hand now? How both his lips and mine are colored with blood? There's nothing more to say." She looked down at her food uneasily.

She hated fighting with Robb, but didn't want to be told what she already knew. There wasn't a solution to this. There wasn't a way to change what had just happened. She couldn't magically run away to a new life. Winter was coming, and with it, starvation and poverty and crime. The King made the match for a political reason and he wasn't changing his mind. It was done. Nothing had ever been more final.

* * *

She hadn't slept last night. Arya was furious with her for it. In fact, everyone was furious with her this morning, Sansa because Merilyn had dark shadows from not sleeping and she wanted her sister to look her best. Robb was still not talking to her. Nelda was furious that she was refusing to wear her hair up like Southern style dictated. Merilyn was furious with herself. She was nervous, pacing, and feeling sick. She was acting like a child and berated herself heavily for it. She was sitting next to her fire, staring at her fingers like they held a kind of answer.

Suddenly, her mother sat down next to her, taking the brush from Nelda and began brushing her hair softly.

"Your hair is about as long as mine was when I married your father," her voice was soft and comforting. The brush through her hair was the only sound in the room and then Merilyn sniffed once.

"Were you afraid?"

Her mother laughed softly, "I was terrified, almost inconsolable. There's nothing wrong with being afraid of something, especially something that is different from anything you've ever experienced."

"Septa Mordane said it's my duty to marry, to have children. And I always wanted that, to fulfill my duty. But now, it's happening. I don't know him. I've never even spoken to him. How am I supposed to marry him? And… and have children?" She should've been embarrassed about this line of questions, but she couldn't be. She wanted to know the answer to the question too much.

She heard her mother set the brush down and then felt her arms wrap around her. Merilyn missed this feeling of comfort and safety. The Starks showed more affection than most families, but still when the children became adults the affection became sparser. Her mother hadn't hugged her in years. She felt herself begin to softly cry, and her mother started to rock her, shushing her softly.

"It won't be easy, Merilyn. But it's necessary. I didn't know your father at first. I never saw his face until the day of the wedding. I was scared and I was alone. But, I wouldn't change anything. I love your father more than the world and now I have six beautiful children. It took courage and you're far braver than I am. It took dedication and you've never given up on anything in your life. It took pride and, well, you're a Stark." She squeezed her tightly, "It was a learning process. And, by the gods, Merilyn, none of my children are imbeciles."

That drew a watery smile from her and she nodded. Her mother was right. She could do this and be just fine. She stood then and smoothed her shift and flipped her hair. She wiped her eyes and looked her beaming mother, "Help me get ready?"


	5. Chapter 5

Jaime rolled his eyes again at the Septon's lengthy speech about cherishing young wives. The man must have believed Jaime would beat the girl on a daily basis from the way he talked. He had never hit a dog, let alone a woman. That could be left to men such as Robert Baratheon.

Everyone was assembled in the Godswood. The wind was bitingly cold even through the cloak Jaime was wearing, which happened to be his most ornate and therefor heaviest. People were listening to the Septon, whether out of politeness or interest he couldn't tell. In the middle of another sentence laden with warning about Old Gods and how they watched everything, the Septon fell silent suddenly and his stare fell on the path that led to the keep of Winterfell.

The girl stood at the top of the path with her Lord Father. They both surveyed the scene emotionlessly and began the descent down the path. Her hair fell in deep red curtains and the bright sheen was only enhanced by the deep black and pearl covered dress. The colors of Stark were more than obvious when glancing at the eldest daughter of their house. The attending audience all seemed to hold their breath as she floated past them down to the Heart Tree where Jaime stood.

He grudgingly admitted to himself that she was indeed beautiful in a Northern way. There was an icy fortitude that he almost admired. His Lady Bride came to stop in front of him, looking directly over his shoulder, towards the forests around them. As her father unclasped her Maiden's Cloak, he saw her eyes move even more frantically around their surroundings and felt a pang of sympathy at her panic. The fur fell from her shoulders and she shivered, for the cold reached her far more easily now. She then inhaled deeply and looked at the Septon expectantly.

Jaime wondered what was going through her mind at this moment. Her hands were clenching and unclenching as a way of fidgeting and she was blinking rapidly, otherwise her outward demeanor showed exacting calm. Mayhap she was thinking the Tully words, Family-Duty-Honor? He saw Cersei off to the side, next to the King and Joffery. They all looked utterly bored. In opposition, the entire Stark family looked almost stricken.

Jaime was jerked from his thoughts, realizing the Septon was speaking the Olde language, the language evolved from the First Men. Same as last night the ceremony would incorporate North rites. The Septon was invoking blessings from the Old Gods, along with interweaving the Seven. Both the Septon and Jaime recited the significance of the cloak exchanges, and he recognized the promises he was parroting after the Septon.

Jaime took his red and gold cloak from his shoulders and placed them on the girl's thin frame, feeling the cold skin of her shoulders under the warmth of his fingers. Her eyes flashed up, meeting his own for the first time during the entire ceremony and he felt familiar disbelief that her eyes were that impossibly blue. The click of his clasp was the only noise in the room. And the significance of the sounded echoed far louder in his own head. She was now in his house, his care. Merilyn Stark no longer existed in the eyes of gods and seven kingdoms. Here now stood his wife, Lady Lannister, under his embroidered cloak, under his protection.

The kiss was cool and simple. It spoke of no history as every kiss between Cersei and he did. It made no promises and lit no flames. But it sealed a long old ritual between man and woman. It was the final link in the chain that would bind them to this life-long travesty. No passion. No love. They were man and wife now, just a contracted obligation to family, duty, honor.

* * *

They'd made it back to the Hall somehow. She was on the arm of Jaime Lannister, her husband. People were congratulating them heavily from all sides of her and she managed polite, dutiful responses. She knew Jaime was watching her. It her then, that they'd never actually said a single word to each other that hadn't been dictated by a ceremony. She looked up into the green eyes of her Lord and opened her mouth to say something but shut it upon realizing she had nothing of value to say to him. She couldn't make polite conversation about the weather.

He pulled her chair from the table, gesturing for her to sit. It wasn't near her own family, instead she was seated in between Jaime and Tyrion with the King and Queen nearby. The meaning behind this was to show she was a Lannister now. She glanced at her old seat by Robb longingly, but sat in the offered chair gracefully and murmured a soft thank you.

"I'm sure you must feel quite elated at this moment," the queen smiled coldly across the table, "married into the richest home in the Seven kingdoms."

Merilyn picked up the wine glass in front of her, trying to believe the question was meant in jest and not spite, "In truth, your grace, I had not thought of it in such a way." She refrained from making a face at the bitterness of the wine.

The queen laughed aloud, and the mocking tone couldn't be ignored this time, "Why, Jaime, she's quite the little lady!" She turned back to Merilyn, "Jaime used to say how he loathed how women hid behind courtesies instead of being forthright and honest."

Merilyn's confusion was growing. Obviously the Queen disliked her, but for what reasons. Instead of answering, she just took another large gulp of her goblet. The bitterness faded, she discovered, the more she did that.

Tyrion jumped into conversation then, "I doubt the new Lady Lannister was hiding behind false courtesy, dearest sister. Obviously, she's thrilled at such an arrangement, just look at her beaming face."

Her face, in fact, resembled the look of shell-shocked men who'd just returned from war. Seven gods, she was a Lannister now. The fact had just begun to sink in. Her head was also beginning to throb from reading into everything her new family was implying behind every word. She was starting to enjoy her second cup of wine.

Glancing at Ser Jaime, she found him eating unconcernedly. He hardly seemed to be listening to either of his siblings. She tried to adopt his attitude but couldn't muster up even the smallest of appetites, and consoled herself with attention to her cups; all trace of bitterness was gone.

The Hall grew steadily louder and more obnoxious, especially when the Lord of Winterfell retired for the night. Merilyn recognized many of the paid women Theon often spoke about in a boasting manner wandering the Hall or sitting on the laps of men, unashamed. The jokes in the hall grew more and more lewd by the moment. She knew what they were referring to and felt this morning's earlier fear creep back into her stomach. Her mother had explained where babies had come from once when she was eleven and Rickon had been born. Theon often talked about the act itself in detailed tones to Robb and Jon, but she didn't believe everything he'd said. Many times Septa Mordane would berate him and her brothers for their comments about it. Merilyn's own Septa had called it nothing more than a married couple's duty. It was for child making only, but many of the maids whispered about it when they hadn't realized Merilyn was eavesdropping and they giggled about the pleasure that came from such an act.

Merilyn's first kiss had been less than a few hours ago and later tonight she would be expected to consummate the kiss further. She tried thinking objectively instead of out of pure terror. Ser Jaime wasn't unattractive. He was actually pleasant to look at, she realized as she glanced at him. He had all of his teeth at least. Maybe it would be simple, quick.

The more wine she had, the more worried she became. Was it possible to perform badly during that… act? Would he find her loathsome and not desirable?

She stood up suddenly, making a split decision. She caught Robb's gaze and gestured for him to follow her out. No one took notice of her leaving. Most were too drunk to even realize she was, and the ones who did would assume she was simply using the chamber pot or something. Robb was behind her as they reached outside. He looked at her concerned.

"Are you all right? You look flushed, Mer?" She saw Jon and Theon exit the Hall and join them.

She stared at all three, "Saddle the horses. We're going hunting." She walked towards the stables, confidently, even if a little shaky on her feet.

"Merilyn," Jon ran to catch up with her, "there's a bit of a feast occurring right now, do you know this?"

She ignored him and entered the stables, pulling her saddle onto her mare. Seeing she wasn't going to stop, they followed her lead and saddled their own mounts as well. She jumped into the saddle, sitting astride for the first time in her life. Irritated with her skirts, she yanked them up baring all of her legs to mid thigh. Jon and Robb exchanged a worried glance.

"Mer, how much have you had to drink?" Robb nudged his horse to a stop beside hers and tried to reach for her reigns. She dodged his reach and coaxed her horse outside the gates of Winterfell, steadily picking up speed, leaving behind the laughter, the celebration, the husband. Merilyn ran.

* * *

He had seen her leave, followed by her brothers and Greyjoy like faithful dogs. He knew she wasn't coming back tonight and felt an odd weight lifted from him. Bedding a sixteen-year-old maid had intimidated the man who would ride into any battle without fear. To the side, Cersei had smirked knowingly. She was on her most infuriating behavior tonight, even managing to prod Tyrion into defending the Stark, no, Lannister girl… his wife. Cersei had wanted a reaction from him and so he hadn't even acknowledged he'd heard the conversation. He knew his twin well enough to know she would tire of the taunts if no one rose to her bait. And he'd been right. His little wife had been full of confusion at his sister's hostility though. He knew she was in for a surprise if she had thought to find friends in Cersei. If anything, the girl would become Cersei's best target because she couldn't attack Robert and Jaime hadn't given a reaction.

Jaime then rose from the table and departed silently as well. He wanted a bed and a dreamless sleep. Gods knew when his father finally found out about what had happened tonight in Winterfell, he'd never peacefully sleep again. The Hall was mostly drunk beyond recognition and there were no Starks remaining at the High table. No one would remember if the consummation had taken place or not, and neither would anyone argue if Jaime said it had. He reached his guest room and stripped quickly. His finery lay in a pile on the floor and he had no energy to amend that at all. He felt more exhausted from today's events then all the battles he'd fought put together. His head hit the pillow with a sigh and he felt the familiar weightless feeling of partial sleep come to him.

The scent of lavender filled the room and his sense and the bed gave under the weight of another person. In his sleep-filled haze, he turned to the warmth of the person next to him. The small hands slipped over his bare skin and down lower still. He felt himself become aroused easily enough. As if in a dream state, his neck was being kissed and bitten interchangeably, while the small hands worked over his hardness. His own hands tangled themselves in the soft curtain of hair the same color as his own. His hips began to buck up into her talented hands and their lips met fiercely, completely different from the chaste kiss he had received earlier. The hands below moved and were replaced with wet warmth that caused him to moan a single name. Cersei.

* * *

They'd been wandering the forest for a fair amount of time, acting very much like they had when they were younger, laughing and chasing the unsuspecting game quite haphazardly. They stopped in a clearing, breathless from adrenaline and laughter.

"So, my Lady Lannister," Jon teased, " why are we in the middle of Winterfell's forests instead of merrily celebrating your marriage?"

"Be silent, Jon. I left so I wouldn't have to think about it."

Theon leered at her, "I'm sure your Lord Husband is missing your presence. His bed must be cold."

"I will knock you off your mount, just so you have fair warning."

"Come now! He's well looking! Many of the court ladies are jealous of your luck!"

Merilyn snorted, "These being the same ladies who invite you into their beds? Their tastes are not exactly particular then."

Robb and Jon roared, while Theon said he'd pray to the seven for Ser Jaime's patience. Merilyn dismounted, dizzily, and sat in a heap next to a tree, leaning her head back. The wine still ran strong in her veins, making her feel light headed and reckless together. Robb dropped down next to her, still chuckling from her barb towards Theon.

"Robb, what is it like?" Ladies didn't speak of such things, she knew. But sitting in the middle of the forest, drunk on strong wine, and having just abandoned her own wedding, she didn't feel much like a lady.

Yawning, Robb looked at her in confusion, "What's what like?"

"The bedding." She said simply. He was awake now, staring at her in shock.

He stuttered a few times, " I, uh, I d-don't th-think, I mean, Mer, I don't really know."

She scoffed, "I know about Ros, Robb. Did you really think we have secrets from each other? I _need_ to know, Robb. Is it pleasant? Does it hurt? What is it like?"

He took a deep breath and looked at the sky, exhaling loudly. She couldn't tell if he was blushing or not, "It's not proper for us to t-."

She cut him off, trying to stand, "Fine, I'll go talk to Theon about it."

He grabbed her wrist and forced her to sit again, "The last person you want advice about this from is Theon." He sighed, "It's different from girls, I would imagine. It's never painful for men. And it's mostly always pleasurable for men. The woman's pleasure is mostly derived from the man's skill. It's not terrible, Mer. You may even enjoy it."

"Are there certain things I need to do, in order to – to make it good?"

Robb shook his head, "It's not shooting a bow. There's no set way with instructions. Just don't be too nervous."

"He doesn't like me." She bit her lip and looked up at her older brother, the words pouring out of her.

He shook his head, "Nonsense, you're beautiful and clever. You can run a smooth household and you've always been levelheaded and mature about everything. You're the perfect wife. You both just need time to adjust to one another."

"When did you become suddenly wise?" She teased, leaning her head on his shoulder.

"We're old now, Merilyn," His voice suddenly became serious, "We're no longer children, even if we tried to be tonight. When I saw you in the Godswood today, I could literally feel your terror, but you didn't once flinch, the same as Bran at the execution. Winter is coming. And we have to be ready."


	6. Chapter 6

Luna's growling woke her before dawn had begun the next morning. Dew covered her hair and her dress was rumpled and stained with dirt. Her head hurt as well and it took her a minute to remember where she was. Robb, Jon, and Theon were all sound asleep on the ground around her, while the horses were tied further away by a clump of trees. She stood up quickly and yelled, "get up! Jon, Theon, Robb, come on. We have to be back before the rest of Winterfell awakens!"

"Shove off, Mer," Theon groaned.

She kicked him, "Theon, get up now. I won't say it again."

Jon rolled over and stood up, "Gods, Merilyn, we're getting up. We're getting up."

They managed to mount the horses and galloped back under the cover of dark. They slipped past the gates and unsaddled the horses with Merilyn shushing their every noise. Her paranoia mounted with every dog's bark and shriek of the wind. She hadn't thought carefully at all last night and her shame mounted every time she remembered her recklessness. This wasn't supposed to be how married women acted and, the seven as the witnesses, she had behaved worse than Arya ever had. Her companions staggered to their beds, moaning about their heads and how Merilyn's ideas were always the worst.

The perpetrator herself was completely unsure of which bed she was supposed to go to. Obviously, last nights actions couldn't have gone unnoticed by her new husband, neither could the empty bed. She colored as the thought of sharing a bed crossed her mind. It was impossible to go back to her shared room with Arya and Septa Mordane had probably already seen to moving her belongings anyway. She yawned. She needed to change before anyone saw her that much was certain. It might be possible for her to sneak in and change before he awoke. She steeled herself, knowing it was the only option she had.

She was soundless through the halls, careful treading lightly across the stone floors. No one was awake in the Keep. Not even the servants had risen yet. The door to his room was unlocked and, luckily, did not creak as she opened it. He was still asleep. Her assumption of Septa Mordane had been correct when her eyes fell on her dresses lined up along the wall. She shut the door softly behind her softly and crept across the room, past the bed to her clothes. She turned her back to the bed and untied her back laces slowly and carefully. It was awkward as she was unused to doing it on her own, but she managed to slide down her first layer of dress, feeling the silk brush against her skin and fall to the floor. The soft exhale the clothing made as it fell resounded like a whisper in the room. She reached back again for the second pair of laces and felt warmth instead of cool clothe. She whirled around and came face to face with her new husband.

"Turn around." He pushed her back to facing the wall. His fingers grazed the top of her shoulders and traced their way down to the laces. His touch heated every piece of skin he touched and she shivered and squirmed. It wasn't efficient or quick like her own maid's touch would've been. He was intentionally lingering. It felt like caressing. The final lace came undone and the second layer fell to the floor, leaving her in her small clothes. His hands slid up her back, to her shoulders, and then to her long hair that had been quickly pinned up during last night's ride. His fingers deftly undid the pins letting them fall to the floor without care and her hair tumbled down her bare shoulders. She felt his fingers lace in it, tugging just lightly enough to turn her to face him.

Her heart was racing and her breath came uneasily to her. His expression was blank, while his eyes roamed her. His hands moved down her neck from her hair and her breath became even shallower.

"Did you have a good night?" He stepped closer to her and she felt herself step away, her back colliding with the cool stone of the wall. His hand stroked her throat and his thumb came to rest on the front of her neck with the rest of his fingers curled the back. His grip was soft, but she knew in an instant they could snap her neck in half. She fought back another shiver.

"I apologize, my L-lord." She cursed herself in her head. Stuttering, really, Merilyn?

He half smiled and she felt heat run through her again. He was extremely attractive. His hair was mussed from sleep and he was shirtless, showing off just how proficient of a knight he was. The muscles were relaxed, mimicking his own attitude at the moment, but there was no mistaking just how strong and muscular he was even in this state.

"If anyone else had noticed your absence you would then have something to apologize. As it stands, you must know it will never happen again. The Lady Lannister will be in the Lord Lannister's bed each night," he leaned in then and whispered into her ear, "I promise, it will not be unpleasant."

With that final whispered seduction, he abruptly turned on his heel and exited the room, leaving a very breathless and confused Merilyn behind in a room with the faint smell of lavender lingering around her.

She had mocked him after fucking him. What kind of man lets his sixteen-year-old virgin wife run off with three highly virile, highly attractive men in the middle of the night, she had asked. She had laughed at him, telling him the girl would never prefer Jaime to the three Northern boys anyway. Cersei told him his own wife didn't want to lie with him.

He knew she was hurting in her own way. In his twin's mind, he could see her fear of being set aside for this younger girl, just as her own husband did on a nightly basis. He knew he shouldn't push her past her limit, but his anger boiled over and he lashed out.

"If that's true, the girl is more like you than anyone else I know. Inviting every man into her bed but her husband sounds familiar, doesn't it, Cersei?"

Her green eyes narrowed to slits and she raised a hand to strike him, but he caught it before it even came near him.

"Come now, dearest sister, shouldn't you feel just a little admiration for her? I think she learned to spread her legs even faster than you. Or maybe you're jealous that she's far superior to you in looks and playing the whore?" He had laughed at her furious expression.

"How dare you call me that? You know that I –"

"Have slept with more men than I've killed?" He laughed harshly.

"You should've been the woman, hidden behind skirts and women's laughter. I should've been the knight, with the sword and bravery." She expelled a breath heavily and Jaime wondered if she was even angry anymore. She merely sounded resigned. She turned and walked to the window, "I have fought for years to make sure the Lannister name is emblazoned with the respect it deserves-"

"Father has been the driving force behind that, I fear to inform you."

"And you think he would've gotten anywhere had he not had me to marry off to the most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms?" she let out a rough laugh, "I have worked too hard and too long to watch you fuck up my plans. Bed the girl, raise your own brats, and live as the Lord of Castlerly Rock after Father is away in his grave. But I will see Joffery on the throne. And I will hear nothing more from you about leaving and abandoning all of that." She walked away from the window and towards the door.

"If you walk out, I will not come to you. I will not wait for you or hide with you in the shadows. I will take the girl into my bed and you will no longer be invited there." Jaime stood proudly by his bed.

His twin paused at the door, but finally swept her head up and wrenched the door open, leaving him alone in his room.

"Jaime, come now, brother," Tyrion's voice pulled him out of his thoughts about last night's culmination.

"What?" Jaime looked at his brother, who was smiling knowingly.

"I asked how last night was for you and the girl. The Seven know she came down looking pale enough and hardly ate a thing. I would've wagered you were gentler than that in the bed."

There was raucous laughter from the men sitting around them. Jaime was breaking his fast with the soldiers of the King's and Tyrion, who was enjoying many a jest at the sacrifice of his brother's modesty.

"Aye, Jaime, is she as much of a wolf in the bed as Starks are said to be?" One of the elder knights guffawed annoyingly.

"It's not the Wolf who has to live up to her name, but the Lion! And by the way the girl sat so frailly this morning," the man choked off with laughter.

Jaime stood suddenly and walked out of the Hall. He knew for a fact he had surprised his new wife this morning. Whatever she had expected, it could not have been a sensual Jaime. But his sister's rejection this morning stung in his mind, and he could not help teasing the girl, watching her eyes fill with surprise and her lips part in arousal, with her chest rising and falling rapidly. It was an ego boost if nothing else; knowing even a girl who despised him and the position they were in could be seduced by merely some choice touches. He felt himself grow hard and growled angrily, striding down the halls. He needed to beat the blood out of another man and soon.

The Keep was alive with people running in a melee of different directions. Catelyn was directing those same people as much as she could with little effect, as Merilyn stood off to the side, swaying from exhaustion. All of her senses were overwhelmed and she couldn't understand what was going on at that exact moment. Jon was leading her horse out of the stables and she wanted to protest that her mare needed rest just as much as she did, but knew that would reveal her less-than-well-kept secret. Arya clutched her hand all of a sudden and she looked down at her fiercely stubborn sister who now gazed up at her with misty eyes.

"Do you have to, Mer?"

Sansa snorted next to Merilyn, and Merilyn started, not having realized she was there. She really needed to sleep.

"Of course, she does, Arya. Try not to be stupid."

Arya didn't rise to the taunt and dropped her gaze to the floor, almost mournfully, "But why?"

"Wives don't stay with their father's homes. They must go where their husbands go, Arya. It's their duty." Sansa said pointedly.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck. Merilyn's eyes widened and she gasped. It was today. Today, the King's party was leaving Winterfell. They were going South. She was leaving home, the North. She was leaving her family, Robb, the little girl clutching her hand like a lifeline, her haughty red-haired sister who reveled in all of the excitement, the baby Rickon, Bran her hopeful knight, the man who always wanted to be older than her because if he was older that meant there was a chance he wasn't a bastard. She was leaving them all. Today.


	7. Chapter 7

_Thank you everyone for the wonderful reviews! I'm sorry it's been a bit since the last update, but I am trying. Little bit of writer's block. Suggestions are always welcome and I appreciate all the followers. A little reminder, if you put my story on an update alert list, it is polite to leave a review. Plus, reviews make me write faster. Love to you all! _

* * *

Her father had been the worst good-bye. It hadn't even felt like a good-bye. He hardly looked at her, and had nodded his head in her direction. She hadn't cried, no matter how large the lump in her throat was. She had gotten onto her horse – that she had insisted on, riding on her horse rather than the damned carriage – and turned away from them, telling herself that she would be back soon, that she wasn't afraid, the world most certainly was not coming to an end, and Starks did not cry. Luna was trailing behind her horse, growling at anything or anyone who came near to her, exactly portraying Merilyn's feeling aloud.

The King's party was one long receiving line, from her point of view. The King himself road at the head and then the Kingsguard followed, with her husband among them.

Even the North mirrored her mood. The grey gloom covered them like a thick blanket and stifled the normal chattering that such a caravan would normally produce. Every impulse in her shouted for her to run. Go home. Forsake vows.

She took a deep breath and straightened in her saddle. To distract herself, she observed the King's Court more closely. The Queen had many attending ladies, for both her and the Princess Myrcella, and they were currently flocked in a group, riding little ponies of calm natures. The loudest of the group was blonde, bright with Southern coloring, and was the obvious leader to such women. They were like a group of cawing birds, each trying to outdo the other in an attempt to garner attention. These are the women Sansa wanted to emulate, Merilyn thought. Draped in finery and droning on about nothing, these were the wives of the Court men. They were everything Merilyn should be, but wasn't.

* * *

The tents had been set up and camp had been settled. Merilyn had tethered her horse loosely nearby after sending Jaime's apparent Squire away. The boy had been both shy and eager to help, but Merilyn was used to caring for her own horse. She gently stroked her horse goodnight and steeled herself to enter the tent where she knew her husband lay.

She walked quietly down the encampment, past two intricate tents. She knew these were the King's and Queen's and felt slight jealousy at the separation. The sensible side of her realized the separate sleeping arrangements might have come about after the birth of the three royal heirs. It was dark besides the light the little torches were giving.

She reached the tent she had been shown earlier and recognized it as her shared temporary home. She took a deep breath and pulled back the cloth, stepping inside. Jaime already lay on the pallet, looking nearly unconscious from how deep he seemed to sleep. She sighed thankfully, knowing that tonight she would not be forced into the part of adulthood that scared her most.

She loosened her dress, watching her new husband curiously. He looked just as guarded while sleeping as he did awake. But he did look younger. She wondered about a young Jaime, before he'd become the Captain of the Kingsguard. Her dress fluttered to the ground and she stepped out carefully. She shivered in her underclothes and lay down carefully. Her entire body tensed. She scolded herself silently, telling herself it was just like sleeping next to Arya. Try as she might though, her body remained rigid and she counted each of her breaths, trying to exhale as quietly as possible.

The relaxed form next to her moved suddenly, sliding a warm hand up her leg and towards her thigh. If it was possible, her body became even tighter. The hand circled the top of her thigh gently, in a way that caused Merilyn to feel overheated uncomfortably and suddenly. She squirmed slightly, trying to move away from his touch. But the fingers clamped down, holding her in place. He was not asleep then. She flushed and felt panic begin to rise. The hand continued its ministrations when she no longer made as if to move away. Then his voice was in her ear, "Relax. There's nothing to fear."

The hand snuck its way north, up her stomach – tracing soft patterns and causing her to feel an extreme confusion. Heat was collecting throughout her entire body and her breath came heavier. Jaime moved suddenly, breaking contact between his fingers and her skin. Her body bemoaned the loss and her mind raced with questions about why. But it was only a moment before the questions were gone and Jaime was above her. He looked at her in the inadequate lighting and she desperately wanted to know exactly what he was thinking in that very moment. His hand rested on her hip, kneading slightly and for a second, green eyes met blue and then he kissed her.

Not the kiss that had sealed their marriage – the briefest of contact and then nothing. This kiss made her shiver from the cold and expand form the heat in the same instant. It was foreign and familiar. It made her heart race and her hands desperate to touch him. She wondered if she could touch him. He was touching her. Her hands had been lying at her side limply. Would her touch feel the same way to him as his touch felt to her?

Jaime pulled away from her and looked down seriously, "stop thinking."

She almost laughed aloud at that, almost. He kissed her neck and she felt a familiar tightening in her abdomen.

"You don't need to think to do this. It's about feelings, sensations. Not practiced theory."

In between words, he would place a kiss on different parts of her neck, her mouth, her forehead. He was surprising gentle and tasted like warm, spiced wine. He suckled lightly at her pulse and without thinking, she moaned aloud, surprising herself.

His hand slid up her hip, and teased the curve of her waist, trailing upwards to cup a breast, causing her to gasp lightly. She couldn't concentrate on all of it. There were too many overwhelming touches, too much heat. He was kissing, kneading, cupping, teasing, leaving her breathless. His hand shucked off her top and lightly twisted a taut nipple and her back arched without her mind's consent. So softly that her body tried to create more contact, grazing the tops of her thighs and then between forcing her thighs apart without her realizing it was happening.

His mouth still half-distracted her with long, lingering kisses and his hand dipped into her, between her thighs, into a place no one had ever touched. Her mind whirled chaotically. She was half-ashamed that anyone was there, but the other part of her was soaring, unbelieving that this feeling existed.

"You're thinking again," he whispered, and she heard the smirk in the tone. His voice was deeper and more strained.

And just those few syllables caused another sharp tightening in her low stomach. Her body was straining for something, though her conscious mind couldn't grasp what it possibly was. She whimpered loudly and Jaime let out a low laugh, his fingers completely sliding into her.

The intrusion felt alien and she wondered why this was necessary. His thumb flicked against her clit and she half-moaned, half-cried out and lost her coherent thoughts. Her back arched as his touch became more insistent. Her hips moved of their own accord against his hand and she almost died when he moved out of her and up her torso.

It became a pattern that he followed. Slowly teasing her skin, her chest, her stomach with light feather touches, before dropping low and continued the rhythm he had abandoned. She didn't know how many times she had endured this excruciating ecstasy before he had been so slowly drawing his fingers in and out of her and she had begged him. It'd slipped out in a breath.

"Ohhh, please…"

His soft laugh echoed again and then, "what was that?"

He sounded pleased, some detached part of her thought but then his thumb pushed down and his fingers picked up speed.

She half cried, and begged again in a steady stream, "please, please, please."

Every cell in her body desperately needed whatever she was begging for. And then it happened. Her whole body arched and tightened and the tightening spread out to the very tips of her fingers and toes. A loud sigh escaped from her and the floating feeling from earlier intensified.

Then she felt filled and heavy. Her eyes opened, dazed and confused. Jaime had taken off his remaining clothes and had entered her while she had been thoroughly distracted.

His hands guided her to wrap her legs around his own hips and she felt him wholly inside of her. Every movement crashed around her as he thrust in and out. And then it was over. Jaime lay atop of her, both gasping for her. It may have been seconds, minutes, days – she didn't know, but then he moved out and her body felt the loss of him immediately.

It came in a wave. That was sex.

She was no longer a maiden, but truly a married woman. And it was actually fine. She had liked it. She felt like crying in relief.

Jaime moved and picked her up, laying her atop of him. She felt stunned for a minute that he would want that again so soon, but then realized he want to sleep with her near him.

She let out a whispered thank you to the gods and let sleep wash over her.


	8. Chapter 8

_Hello, all! This is a slightly longer update with some action. I hope you enjoy it. Another friendly reminder, if you hit the follow button - go ahead and hit that review button. I'd greatly appreciate it._

_Also, for all my reviewers, thank you so much! I really write these for the feedback I get. This story doesn't follow the same timeline as ASOIAF and GOT, because I kind of tweaked it. Jon Arryn is still alive and will play a part in this story.  
_

_Thanks again and I love you all for coming back time and time again! - Lady Fountainhead_

* * *

He was gone when a small girl named Leila waked her, who she learned was to be her handmaiden from this point on. After dressing and eating a small portion of dried rabbit, Merilyn realized the long journey still left and eyed her saddle distrustfully. This morning she'd discovered the evidence that last night had actually happened on the inside of her thighs. Though last night she had felt no pain, the soreness existed now.

Stubbornly, she mounted the saddle, though she chose the safer sidesaddle option.

She saw Jaime once throughout the hours of riding, and even then it had been but a glance, before her attention had been once again drawn back to the chattering women that she rode with.

Many of the women, hearing some of the gentlemen comment on Merilyn's riding skills, refused to be outdone and had decided to forego the carriage and ride alongside her. Which Merilyn found highly annoying. Instead of being able to observe the women's inane interactions from afar, she was forced into the very middle of it and into acting politely ladylike.

She nodded yet again, as Lady Ashby commented on the beauty of the North for the third time. Merilyn wondered if Lady Ashby was trying to garner her approval for some reason. She certainly did not really like the North for Merilyn had overheard her complaining to another woman about the cold.

She stifled the urges to roll her eyes or ride away from them all. She looked at Luna, who shared the same bored stare she'd been hiding, and smiled fondly. At least, she'd always have her wolf.

* * *

She was furious, that much was certain to Jaime. She had been barreling around the corner, and had run directly into him. She looked up at him, her eyes glowing with anger, and then suddenly anger shifted to surprise and then uncertainty. He felt himself grow aroused at the memory of last night's events. Reigning in his hormones, he looked at her.

"Good evening."

She nodded, shyly, "Good evening."

"And what has upset my little wife?"

He saw the anger flash back for a brief moment, but then fade away and the uncertainty return. He'd have to find a way to get rid of that.

"Nothing, my lord."

He decided not to push, "How are you feeling today then?" He quirked an eyebrow teasingly.

She did flush then and that caused a familiar tightening he'd experienced earlier. He half-smirked, letting last night's memory float up. He hadn't expected to get as much enjoyment from it as he had. He had wanted to bed her, if only in spite of Cersei. No matter what she may say, he knew fucking the girl would anger his twin greatly and that was his main goal of the moment.

There was no guilt from sleeping with a woman other than her. The girl had been innocent and unknowing, so much easier to please. And that itself had been extremely arousing. Cersei had always known what she wanted, what she expected from him and her habit of leaving after getting what she wanted irked him. She'd grown accustomed to getting what she wanted.

Merilyn's reaction had been nothing short of wonder. And she'd been there all night, for him. Cersei took control away from him and gave nothing in return. The young love they'd had, had slowly been consumed by Cersei's ambitions and Jaime's apathy. And his twin refused to acknowledge and try to change that no matter how much Jaime begged. But the girl's youth and inexperience was a breath of fresh air that attracted him more than he had felt in a long time.

"I feel very well, My Lord." She looked like she would say more but then the direwolf she always had around suddenly growled and raised its hackles.

Both Jaime and she looked around in surprise. The glades that were known to the South were more frequent and the trees were starting to disappear, indicating that they were coming to the Borders of the North. Nothing was moving in the short grass fields.

"Is your wolf often prone to growling at the wind?"

The girl was looking at her wolf in somewhat shock, "I've never heard that noise from her before."

Jaime scanned his surroundings again. Years of warfare had taught him that animals were the first to sense danger and it was unwise to ever shrug off the warnings of one.

"Stay near the encampment." He addressed the girl curtly and turned towards where members of the King's Guard were standing.

* * *

She had half a mind to growl herself at Ser Jaime's abrupt orderings. Merilyn wasn't one of the stupid court girls who hadn't a single clue how to take care of themselves in the wilderness. She had hunted with her father, outshot all of her brothers and had tracked and killed many of the animals women talked about in hushed whispers. She was perfectly capable of understanding that a direwolf's warning wasn't something to be overlooked.

Merilyn stomped to the tent that held Castlerly Rock's flag and signified her home for the evening, pushing back the tent flap violently and let a scream rip from her throat.

The man standing in front of her with a smile reached out with one dirt-covered hand and clamped down on her, yanking her to him. The same hand covered Merilyn's scream and she felt panic rise as the man's other hand roamed her body.

Desperation rose with another scream and she bit down, tasting dirt and blood. Some part of her brain heard the man's yell of pain, but the major part of her was focused on getting out of his grip. Kicking and screaming, she was made contact with his shin and he roared again.

His hand connected with her face and it was her turn to yelp in pain. She fell to the floor and her vision blurred, hardly seeing the boot connect with her ribs. She rolled with the force of the blow, ignoring the burning of hot tears in her eyes, and groped around for the edge of the tent, using it as leverage to pull herself up.

There was the sound of metal being unsheathed and her hair was suddenly being pulled painfully forcing her backwards into the man again. The stench of wine and sweat clung to him and her nostrils protested, even as she kicked out limply. The knife was at her throat and without her permission a whimper escaped her. Time seemed to pass more slowly. Her brain focused on small things, the trickle of blood from where the knife had nicked, the smell of her fear and his obvious alcoholism, his hands ripping her dress apart.

The man let out a small noise and loosened his grip, his weight falling forward onto her and a warm wetness leaking onto her back. She stumbled forward and another pair of hands pulled her up, leaving her attacker to fall to the ground, a sword with a gilded handle protruding from his back.

Jaime stood with one hand clamped on her forearm tightly, painfully. His eyes roamed her quickly, looking for major injuries. When he was satisfied she was well enough to leave, he pulled her from the tent and picked her up, throwing her onto his own horse.

"Ride for the trees. Willas is there with a few men. Do what he says."

It was then that she saw the battlefield the encampment had become. The King's Guard was spread out fighting what looked like a group of Wildlings. Some of the tents had been set afire and the screams of dying men and frightened women combined for the worst sound Merilyn had ever heard.

"Merilyn! Go." Jaime looked at her and she saw he was covered in blood. That was the first time he ever used her name.

She urged the horse forward but felt hands on her dress pull her down.

She hit the ground with a groan as her horse sped off without her. She looked up at another man, who had torn the bottom half of her dress off, with anger instead of panic this time.

A quick glance to her left and she saw Jaime fighting two men while glancing at her every other blow. She realized he was worried about her. Anger turned to adrenaline and kicked upwards into the man, forcing him to his knees.

Robb had taught her the most fragile spots on a man before and she hadn't forgotten. She stood up threw her full weight onto the man with a yell. His axe skidded from his hand in surprise and she scrambled for it. The man grabbed her ankle but she kicked again, dislodging his grip. Twisting around she brought the axe down with a sickening thud onto the man's shoulder.

He screamed. Merilyn ignored it.

Stepping back, she pulled the axe out and slammed it down again. This time the noise coming from the man was more of a gurgle and the crack from his skull reverberated in her brain. She let go of the axe and stumbled backwards.

Hands gripped her shoulders and she turned around, yelling in fright and hit blindly. The hands grabbed her own flailing ones, and forced them to her sides. She looked up at Jaime and felt the fight leave her body. Her knees, shaking, threatened to stop supporting her and she leaned against Jaime completely drained.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice breaking embarrassingly.

"You're fine now," his voice was steady and emotionless, which made her want to cry all the more.

She glanced back at her attacker who now had an axe sticking from his skull.

"Don't look," Jaime's voice was harsher and he led her away from the encampment. She noticed the Wild men had left. The King's Guard were picking up the bodies and piling them in a stack. It seemed like a dream, covered in some kind of haze. She followed Jaime obediently and took him in slowly. The blood that covered his clothes seemed to be from other people and his shirt had been torn, revealing a particularly muscular torso. She hadn't noticed that last night. It had been too dark.

She looked away from him, ashamed of where her thoughts had gone. She remembered something else.

"Luna," she gasped looking up at Jaime in terror.

"She's around. I'd be more fearful of what she is doing than where she is. Last I saw, some poor man had become dinner. She's quite the warrior, your little wolf."

"Takes after her mistress than, doesn't she, Lannister?" A man she recognized as the secondary commander of the King's Guard came over. What was his name?

"Jarent," Jaime inclined his head. That answered that question. Gods, Merilyn was exhausted. She wanted her bed – or Jaime's body. She shook her head mentally. Hopefully no one saw her blushing. What the hell was coming over her?

"Half the men saw your little wife wielding an axe. They won't cross her for certain." Jarent smiled widely.

"I'm less concerned with my wife's battle skills and more concerned with how Wildlings managed to come into the encampment with none of the sentries realizing it." His voice was clipped. Funnily enough, he sounded like Merilyn's father when he berated Bran for climbing Winterfell's walls.

Jarent's smile faded, "I take full responsibility for that, my Lord. I hadn't posted sentries yet. Yesterday the King had complained the encampment wasn't being set up fast enough, so I told many of the Guard to help. They must've been watching us for some time."

Merilyn felt herself sway slightly. Her stomach was turning as her mind replayed the last few minutes' happenings. Jaime's arm settled onto her waist, discreetly supporting her and she felt relief.

"And the King is?"

"Grumbling about how he wasn't able to partake. Willas took him and the Court to safety immediately as you ordered. I've sent Rousse to get them as soon as the area has been cleaned."

"We'll need to move. I doubt they'll come back, but with the women and children with us, no reason to be foolish about it. Send twenty men to Willas and tell them to keep looking for another place to make camp. Keep the court on the move until we catch up with them."

Jarent nodded and gave a quick half-bow, leaving immediately to carry out orders. The Lannister Lord then turned to her and appraised her.

"Do you know anything about healing?"

Merilyn pulled away from him standing on her own feet and was proud when she was steady, "Yes. All Stark children are taught basics."

"You can go with the men Jarent sends and stay with the Court until I come get you or you stay and –."

"I'll stay." The last thing she wanted was to be with the Court.

He looked at her seriously, "there are wounded men. It'll be entirely different from what you're used to."

"Don't send me away." Her voice didn't break, but she could hear the tone of desperation. She would feel ashamed about it later. She couldn't leave. Luna was nowhere to be found and Merilyn had just killed a man. She was safe with Jaime. She had seen his look when he couldn't get to her. He would take his vows seriously. Leaving him meant she was vulnerable again.

He nodded, "The Court physician is with the rest of court, but his supplies are here. I'll bring them and the wounded to you."

He turned and strode away, leaving her standing in the middle of a glade, desperately wanting nothing more than to be home, safe and sound, free of the blood now staining her hands.


	9. Chapter 9

_Hey, all! Sorry about the wait on the update. School is really just killing me. Thanks for all the reviews! They're my main reason I continue coming back._

_Just an fyi for you guys, this is NOT going to be book or tv accurate. I am playing with these characters and anything/everything is fair game for me to change. This includes the Kingsguard, Castlerly Rock, all the characters, etc._  
_Enjoy! - LadyF_

* * *

Merilyn was arms deep in blood and gore.

There weren't many casualties from the skirmish, but there were a few bad injuries that needed a lot of attention. She looked down at her current patient, a young squire whose fingers had been ripped and broken and steeled her mind again.

"You'll have to hold him down. This will be painful."

The boy looked at her in terror and Jarent nodded his head, gripping the young boys shoulders more tightly.

"What's your name, Squire?" She asked, kindly.

"Boaden, my Lady," his breathing was harsh and his eyes were wide.

"Boaden, I have to remove these fingers. They can't heal properly unless I do and the infection could spread up your arm and then the Maester Healer would have to take that off. Do you understand?" Her voice was calm and clear.

The boy nodded, even though she doubted he really understood. She took the Court Healer's saw and tied off his hand. She had only done this once before, when the stable boy's foot developed the illness and her mother and Grand Maester had both been there.

She took a deep breath; "Tell me about your home, Boaden."

"What, my Lady?" His face was deathly pale.

"Your home, where you are from. Tell me about your family."

"I'm from Castlerly Rock, my Lady. I was raised on the cliffs with my family. My father has always worked for the Lannisters…" he continued on.

She waited until he was distracted as he could be, and then she brought down the saw, easily cutting through the remaining skin. The blood that had been there spurted out in rhythm with the boy's screaming. His back arched in pain and Jarent was forced to hold even more tightly.

Merilyn wrapped the cloth methodically, knowing the bleeding would stop soon. The boy had fainted. She thanked the gods silently; knowing the pain would be easier when he awoke. Jarent laid the boy on the wagon, with several of her other patients.

She stood shakily and looked around.

Most of the encampment was cleared and men were starting to get onto their horses. Maybe it had been hours, but she had no real concept of how long it had been. It was near pitch black now. Only the lit torches shone any light on the darkness, for even the moon was gone.

"My Lady Lannister?" Jarent looked to her, "That was the last of them, my lady. You are done."

She nodded her understanding, not bothering to look at him. She was numb now. Only one of their men had died. She should feel happy, but all she knew was she didn't.

A cold sensation in her hand startled her to look down in surprise, "Luna!"

The direwolf was covered in blood. Merilyn knelt down and ran a hand over her beloved pet; cautiously hoping none of the blood was Luna's. It didn't seem to be.

"Where have you been?" She whispered, hugging the direwolf close.

"She's been chasing crows away from the grounds and stalking the outskirts of the encampment. If anything, she's probably the one the Wildlings are afraid of." His teasing tone was a comfort to her and she turned and saw Jaime leading his horse towards them. Her stomach did an odd flip when she saw him, dirt and blood covered, but still with his odd half-smirk on his face.

"Are we leaving now?" She looked up hopefully.

He nodded, "come here."

She walked over and he lifted her up onto the horse, getting up behind her. He reached in front of her, his hand brushing against her waist and she felt that odd swooping sensation again. She tensed against him and she could've sworn she heard him laugh.

* * *

She had fallen asleep, her head knocking against his shoulder softly. They were still riding long after they had left the blood-soaked ground of their original camping ground. Willas had obviously taken the Court father than Jaime had instructed, but he couldn't fault the man. The attack had been extremely startling. Lord Stark was extremely careful about Wildlings and hardly let one or two of them past Winterfell under his watch. Yet, an entire group, close to fifty of them had attacked in a planned assault.

Jaime could no longer feel the arm that was supporting the girl. She was leaning back against his shoulder, and to keep her from falling, he had wrapped his arm about her. Every now and then he would hear a soft murmuring from her as if she was speaking to someone.

The men rode mostly in silence, the same silence reflected by their surroundings. Hardly anything moved around them, beyond the leaves they disturbed. The men had nothing to say and the animals of the night even less. The night was cool and dark. No stars lit the sky and the moon wasn't to be found. In Northern superstition, it meant the old gods had abandoned the land for the night. He briefly wondered if the girl who felt like lead in front of him believed in the old gods.

Light began to illuminate the front of the horses and Jaime saw Willas waiting to meet them, with a campsite sprawled out behind him. Jaime signaled for his men to continue on to their beds and reined his horse to a stop in front of his friend.

"You went a good ways," he commented looking over the encampment.

Willas gave a slight bow, "I thought it best to go as far as possible. All are safe. The King wishes to speak with you immediately though."

"Something I greatly look forward to. Sentries?"

"All posted. We'll be upon Castlerly Rock very soon, my Lord."

Jaime paused and looked down at Willas, "I am aware. You felt the need to point that out because?"

Willas shuffled his feet, "I would request a post there, with you, my Lord."

"I'll take to Jarent about it. He would be losing a valuable man. What brought this on?"

"I tire of the life in Court. My father served your father and I wish to do the same as he."

Jaime nodded, "it will be considered. Go rest now. We'll discuss this more on the morrow."

Jaime had known the girl had awoken when he had first spoken to Willas, but she had, thankfully, pretended to stay asleep and let him talk without interruption to his man. As Jaime urged the horse forward, she sat up more and he felt the return of blood to his arm with great relief.

"I'm sorry to have fallen –."

"It's to be expected," he cut her off, "You have no need to apologize."

He stopped outside a tent with his colours, and dismounted, pulling her down with him.

His hands easily felt her body through the ripped dress and he repressed the onslaught of desire. He set her down, his hand grazing her ribs and she flinched.

"Are you hurt?" He asked, touching her ribs again and seeing the same reaction, "You should've said something!"

She shook her head, eyes wide, "it's nothing, just from a kick. It'll be better by morning."

He growled low in his throat. He thought he had gotten into the tent fast enough, after hearing her screams. The Wildlings had descended upon them faster though.

He'd often played the good knight, rescuing helpless women from the hands of rapists and killers, but seeing someone he knew, someone he owned, someone he had vowed to protect in the hands of another man had enraged him like he had never been before.

He looked down at her face, bruised on one side and trying to earnestly convince him that she was fine, and sighed, "go into the tent and sleep. I will be back soon."

She hesitated then he saw it in a brief moment. But then she nodded and turned to the tent, reaching for the opening. Her fingers shook slightly and Jaime cursed himself in his head. He reached the tent flap first and walked inside first glancing around, satisfying that there was no one there. He had to remind himself again that she was a young girl who had been attacked, and she had to save herself. He had let it happen. He stifled the wave of guilt.

"You think I'm silly, don't you?" She whispered, thinking he must've been angry at her fear.

He shook his head, "This was your first time seeing bloodshed of men, wasn't it?"

"Yes," it came out in a soft whisper, "Robb would go on raids. He said it was something I never needed to see, something that he could never forget," she looked up at him then, "you were so calm."

"I'm scores older than you. I did this for years upon years, fighting for survival, for the Crown. But I'm never really calm. For your first time, you impressed quite a few people. I didn't know they taught Northern women to wield axes."

She looked down at the floor and he heard a sniffle. Gods. She was crying. He really was a fool sometimes. Cersei didn't cry. He rolled his eyes at himself. That thought wasn't helpful in the slightest. This girl had far surpassed whatever She looked back up, her eyes dry.

"It was too easy. I keep thinking about it. Shouldn't it be harder to kill someone?"

How could he explain differently? She was right. It should be harder.

"He would've killed you without thought. And it wouldn't have been quick or painless. Don't think about it anymore."

He turned back to the entrance, "Get to sleep. We'll only have a few hours before sunrise."

He didn't let himself look back at her as he left.


	10. Chapter 10

_Hey, all! This is a really, really short update. I've been throwing this about in my mind, trying to find the bridge into Castlerly Rock. This is what happened. I know it's short and I just ask for your patience. It's written a bit differently, too - as we've been experimenting with writing in my class. So I hope you enjoy it and it tides you over until the next update. Thank you for all your reviews, would love to see more! _

* * *

It was hot.

She felt like she couldn't breathe. A hundred blankets were smothering her, making her gasp desperately.

She cried out, begging for the heat to leave, wanting nothing more than cool air to reach her lungs again. Her limbs were flailing worthlessly.

She would drown. Drown in the heat that was engulfing her lungs, forcing her to inhale flame after flame. The blood boiled in her very veins, giving her no escape. She would die. She knew.

She would die from the heat surrounding her. Even hotter hands grasped her shoulders, pulling her up. She cried out and pushed angrily, trying to get away from the hot hands. There was a voice somewhere, far away, calling for her. She tried to respond, but only sobbed.

It was so hot.

And then it was cold. And wet.

She gasped in relief, feeling the water drip down her face slowly. Her pulse slowed and she sagged against the arms now engulfing her. Merilyn looked up at Jaime, who was watching her without expression. She was babbling.

"It was so hot," her voice came out in harsh sobs, "I couldn't, the heat, breathing. I tried. I didn't want."

"You can breathe now," Jaime told her. His voice was inflectionless. His expression showed nothing.

She sobbed harder. Then she felt his hand on her back. It was soothing, circling softly. She hiccupped softly, and looked up at him with tear-filled eyes.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean -."

"Enough apologizing. You're in a new home. It's to be expected."

Castlerly Rock was nothing like Merilyn had expected. The lands were grey, grey from the rocks, grey from the sky, the ground – even the grass was grey. There was no colour. Even the people seemed grey to her. They had ridden in late at night, under a blanket of dark, to be greeted by an irate Tywin and a lifeless court. Merilyn had been shown to her new bedroom, an amazingly luxurious room at that, and waited. Her hands fidgeted in her lap and Jaime stormed in, startling her. He looked the angriest she had seen him, his near perfect control gone and in replacement the naked fury that propelled him forward.

The coupling had been harsh in Merilyn's mind. He had taken none of the previous care he had shown before, but had pushed her down on the bed and joined them so fast; she hadn't realized what was happening until it did. It had hurt, far more than the first night had hurt. And it was over far more quickly. But it was part of her new life and she had accepted it. She accepted it when he rolled off of her with no words, and fallen asleep. She had accepted it as she rose carefully from the bed, and undressed. She had accepted the pain and accepted the night. She accepted her place next to him and lay down, feeling his breathing steadily rise and fall. And she accepted the Southern heat, smothering her slowly.

* * *

He had used her harshly. Lifting her skirts and shoving into her unprepared body like she was nothing more than a toy for his usage, Jaime Lannister had used his wife the same way Robert Baratheon used his twin. He had been furious at his father's accusations of his weakness and failure. His normal outlet had been forgotten and all he could remember was the feeling of her hips, her thighs. And then he had found her dutifully waiting, so unlike Cersei in every way, and he hadn't thought any further.

Her cries had awakened him later that night. She had been thrashing, crying out about heat. She was burning up to touch, her hair damp and stuck to her forehead. Her cries turned to sobbing and in a moment of inspired desperation he had picked the pitcher of water from the window up and tossed it onto her, bed and all becoming drenched. Her sobbing quieted and she managed to open her eyes to him. Relief flooded him as he saw comprehension in her blue eyes and she breathed more easily again.

Her apologies had only deepened the guilt he felt for his earlier behavior, and he shrugged them off, telling her it was a new place. It was expected.

When he knew - he _knew_ - it was him who had caused the night terror. She had had none after being attacked, after killing a man, after facing blood and broken bodies. But tonight, sitting in a new room, in a new home, she had waited for a familiar body for comfort and had been given none. For that familiar body, her husband who should've come to bed in a gentle manner, who should've reassured her that she was safe in the South, had done to the exact opposite. He had used her harshly.


	11. Chapter 11

The Southern dresses were definitely easier to move in than her Northern ones. The flowing skirt and non-existent sleeves encouraged movement as she fluttered about the castle, talking to people with a cheerful smile on her face. This was what she could do, what she was good at.

The general well-being of the castle had been, for so many years, left up to the Maester of Castlerly Rock, but Merilyn wanted to be the real Lady. She had risen early every day, sought out the kitchen staff, the waiting staff, every stable boy, every scullery girl, intent upon getting every name and having every face know her own. She knew Maester Culwin was irritated with her. He was not used to being forced to go through a chain-of-command, having to ask someone's permission. His dislike for her was obvious. But she was determined to make him like her. She was determined to have all of the inhabitants of Castlerly Rock like her, and that included her Good Father.

His dislike for her had been even more obvious than Maester Culwin's was, as Lord Tywin had no need to hide behind courtesy or fake manners.

In fact, he took full advantage of his superior status, commenting often on her shortcomings and Northern countenance. The first meeting with him had been stilted, based upon his circling of her with his hawk eyes and haughty gaze. Then he had curtly dismissed her from the room. As she left, she heard him mutter to Jaime that though she brought nothing to the family at least she might prove to be a good breeder.

The Stark in her bristled at that statement. Every lecture her father had ever given her washed over her in that moment. She was worth more than the children she would bear. Women were the structure a household was built upon, the strength behind a husband, the nurturer for all children – not just her own. For the sake of the gods, Tywin's own daughter acted the complete opposite of a breeding mule if the Court gossip was true!

Merilyn met his glare every time following their first meeting, refusing to cower to this man. She watched him and Jaime around the grounds, as she flitted about the castle. It was nothing like her own father and brothers' relationships.

There was no hint of approval ever reflected in Tywin's eyes as he looked upon his eldest son, no happiness or joy that the man standing next to him was his own blood, only a biting disapproval and shame at the relation. The relationship instead reminded her of the old Bannermen who would taunt Robb when they came up to Winterfell. She was always angry on Robb's behalf, angry that such old and worn out men would dare to question Robb's abilities, but he'd always shrugged and let it roll off his back. He told her once they needed to taunt him, to push him in order to feel still needed, still necessary. Tywin was subtle about it, his taunts and prods. There were far more skilled and less uncouth unlike the Northern Bannermen. But still held a bite that would make lesser men cringe. Jaime took it all calmly, without blinking. His acceptance gave her another piece of his character portrait that she was secretly putting together in her mind.

She understood that first night in Castlerly Rock more clearly now.

It had been a week since they had partaken in marital duties, a week since the night of suffocating heat. They shared a bed, something she was dearly grateful for, since her husband could have his own room and only come to her when necessary to copulation. But he chose to sleep with her, never touching, but still close. And she took comfort in that fact. After sleeping with another body her whole life, she couldn't imagine being alone at night. Maybe he knew that. He seemed to know things without her telling him sometimes. She felt hope that maybe Jaime and she could have a marriage like her parents, like his own parents seemed to have had from what the servants had told her about them.

"M'lady?" Willas appeared suddenly at her side.

She turned away from the window, where she had been observing her husband instructing one of the stable boys about a horse, and looked at the man in front of her.

Willas had obviously been given the post at Castlerly Rock that he had requested from Jaime when she'd been fake-sleeping. She had a feeling Tywin or Jaime had given him the task of watching over her, for he had a habit of appearing at odd times throughout the day.

"Yes, Willas?" she smiled warmly. He was hardly older than she was and had the normal Southern countenance she was growing familiar with. Golden-haired and blue-eyed, he could've easily passed for a younger Jaime.

"Maester Culwin and the Healer have a disagreement they need you to settle."

She sighed and resisted rolling her eyes, "All right, where are they?"

Willas turned and walked down the stone steps, his boots echoing loudly. This time Merilyn didn't stifle the urge and rolled her eyes, following behind far more quietly.

* * *

He recognized the fury on her face from several weeks ago. She was gesturing angrily from Maester Culwin to a young girl he recognized from the kitchens. Culwin reached for the girl and Merilyn stepped in front of him, shielding her. He saw that Culwin's anger was steadily rising from being overruled and stepped down the stairs out of the cover of the doorway. Both of them stopped yelling midsentence and looked up at him. He smirked and looked from one to the other.

"Care to explain?" He drawled, taking another step down the stairs.

Merilyn gazed back at him defiantly, not stepping away from the girl; "Maester Culwin wishes to force Ebohny from Castlerly Rock for being with child."

"The girl is carrying a bastard. She's unmarried –"

"And alone! If you exile her from Castlerly Rock, where will she go?" Merilyn's hair came out in small strands and her cheeks flushed from her frustration. Jaime saw the Stark beauty again in sharp vision.

"She should've thought of that before spreading her whore legs. She will do nothing but taint the Honour of this House," Culwin hissed, looking over Merilyn's shoulder at the crying girl. Jaime noticed for the first time the girl looked very young. And resembled the youngest Stark girl. Understanding flooded him then.

Merilyn stepped towards Culwin threateningly, "And what of the man that fathered that child? Will you force him out as well?"

"The girl will go." Jaime stepped forward cutting off any further argument, "Tyrion's home down by the Coast needs a new scullery maid." Culwin smirked and leaned back on his heels pompously. Jaime wanted to knock the man off his feet, but ignored him.

Merilyn opened her mouth angrily, but he held up a hand and she shut it.

"Willas," Jaime called to the man standing off to the side who had been watching passively the last few minutes, "take the girl, make arrangements. You're in charge of this."

Wills reached out to the shaking girl and smiled kindly. As the two walked away, Jaime turned back to the Maester, "You can leave now."

Merilyn gave him a scathing look and made to follow the Maester, but Jaime grabbed her arm. He waited until Culwin disappeared up the stairs before turning his attention fully to his wife.

"How could you even –," She began to hiss.

"It was noble of you to want to protect the girl, my little wife. But you obviously don't understand. What exactly were you going to do with the girl? Keep her here?"

"She's a child! She doesn't deserve to be exiled away from the only home she's known!"

"Your bleeding heart is beautiful –"

Merilyn ripped her arm from his grip, "You've sentenced this girl to a lifetime of being a pariah because of some man taking what wasn't freely offered. And he certainly won't suffer the consequences the way she will."

"But, yet, you would sentence her to a lifetime of whispers and judgment. As soon as she starts to show, every person she's ever considered a friend will both silently and vocally condemn her. No one will be a safe harbor and everyone will know of her sin. I offered, instead, a new beginning. She can create whatever story she wants of a dead husband and a future for her child. She will be free from whatever nightmares she would face here. Tyrion's home is full of the outcasts. She's safe there. Culwin thinks he's won. When you have, in reality. You wanted her safe. Now she is."

Her chest rose and fell as she panted, his words sinking slowly into her mind. Her body relaxed as she thought about it. He saw her eyes dart up to his and knew he had won the argument.

"Culwin won't ever accept me if my husband continually –"

Jaime scoffed, "Culwin won't ever accept you. Culwin loves and accepts no one but my dear father. Pick a different battle, one that you're more likely to win."

Merilyn was silent for a moment and then nodded, her eyes falling to the floor dutifully.

Jaime groaned inwardly. He had seen the fire in her promptly become doused again and replaced with the wifely duties she considered so important. Without a second thought, he stepped towards her and grabbed her, forcing her lips to meet his in a harsher kiss than he'd bestowed before.

* * *

His lips crashed to meet hers and all she knew was confusion.

She had been so angry when he hadn't supported her. But he had, in his own way, hadn't he?

She felt his mouth upon hers, hot and demanding and she responded, surprising herself greatly and even more so, Jaime. She was still angry, still shaking from it really. But she felt hot. The heat enveloped her – so different from the other night. This heat lit up the very tips of her fingertips and spurred her on. She wrapped her arms around Jaime's neck pulling herself closer to him. She relished the feel of his hands sliding up her hips.

She couldn't think about anything but the ache between her legs and instinctively she pressed her pelvis upwards, trying hard to relieve it. Jaime's grip on her hips tightened and she felt herself pushed against the wall. It was wet and cold from last night's rain and was an intense contrast from the heat spreading throughout her. Her hands moved upwards to his hair and she threaded her hands into it, not caring if it was okay with him or not. She wanted to feel it.

There was a cough at the top of the stairs and Merilyn broke away from the kiss, looking up.

There was an older woman standing up there looking highly uncomfortable. She couldn't remember her name. Her mind was foggy as she tried to wrestle the name from it. She still felt Jaime's hands and mouth on her and it snapped her back to reality.

"Septa Aliane!" She pushed against Jaime, not managing to even move him in the slightest but got his attention. He looked up at Aliane without embarrassment while Merilyn knew her own face was burning. She saw him grin up at her and felt like there was nothing that could make this moment worse.

Then her Good Father walked up behind Aliane.

Jaime's grin disappeared. But Tywin didn't take the moment to harp on their lack of propriety or any number of flaws that Merilyn felt were in this situation. Instead, he looked directly at Jaime.

"We have matters to discuss. We're leaving for King's Landing now."

He turned and walked away without another word.


	12. Chapter 12

Merilyn heaved herself up from kneeling by the chamber pot, wiping sweat off her forehead and coughing lightly.

Her mouth tasted sour from the sickness and her stomach still rolled as she straightened her skirts and patted her hair to make sure it was still in place. Septa Aliane clucked sympathetically behind her.

"Shall I call the Healer now, Milady?"

She shook her head; "I got the sickness from one of the serving girls or Leila. She's been coughing lately. I'll be fine. Did any letters come?"

The Septa raised her eyebrows unbelievingly, but did not pursue the subject further. "No, milady, there were no letters."

Merilyn sighed. Ser Jaime had been gone two fortnights now, off in King's Landing with her Good Father. They had been called by King Robert to bring men, and money Merilyn secretly thought, to monitor a shipment coming in from Essos. Jaime's letters had said very little else. Willas had told Merilyn one day that rumour was the King was afraid of a rebellion stirring and questioned any ships coming into Blackwater Bay, especially such a large fleet.

Willas had become a useful asset to Merilyn. He often helped her with decisions regarding the men and the security of the castle and she trusted his judgment far more than the Maester's. He often sat with her and the women of Castlerly Rock late at night, telling them stories of King's Landing and entertaining them from the weariness of Castlerly Rock life. She dearly appreciated his youth and humour and found herself oftentimes reminded of Theon.

She'd had several ravens from home.

Robb had written the longest letter, telling her of Arya's stubbornness and Bran's disobedience to their Mother and her wishes for him to quit climbing. He wrote of Grey Wind missing Luna and Jon's restlessness. He guessed it wouldn't be long now until Jon left for the Wall. Merilyn could almost hear the sadness in her brother's voice. At the end of Robb's letter after he had signed his farewell, Arya scrawled out her short but sincere message. "You should come home. Sansa is unbearable and keeps talking about when she shall be married. Our room is cold without you. Love, Arya."

Her mother's letter was shorter and less detailed. She spoke of every day life and how the Keep was being run. It was simple and straightforward and just as clearly as she heard Robb's sadness she could hear her mother's love in the letter.

It eased the ache of homesickness that she had felt receiving those letters and made her more determined to run Castlerly Rock the way her own mother ran Winterfell. She would overthrew the gloom that seemed to inhabit the very corners of the castle and fight the hard battle to bring the Southern sunshine into the home instead.

"Milady?" Septa Aliane asked.

Merilyn shook herself from her thoughts, "I'm sorry, Septa. What did you say?"

"I asked if you required anything else from me?"

"Did Willas find my horse?" She asked suddenly, looking at the older woman.

The man in question appeared at the doorway, "No, I did not, Milady. It seems one of the men was given her before setting out for King's Landing, per the orders of Lord Tywin."

Merilyn refused to let her anger show and instead nodded. She picked up the log book of Castlerly Rock that she had demanded from Culwin and flipped the pages uninterestedly. She looked back up at the door.

"Do make sure when Lord Tywin returns that Luna is not shown the same treatment as my horse, will you?"

Willas grinned widely and nodded, turning on his heel and leaving the room.

Merilyn felt her stomach turn again and groaned aloud, "Aliane, you are permitted to leave."

* * *

Jaime slipped from the room, glancing from one end of the hall to the other. He knew he looked like a child who had just stolen food from the kitchens. He knew it was stupid, foolish to crawl into Cersei's bed under the very noses of both their father and her husband. But she was an intoxication he couldn't resist.

He made it back to his room and fell onto the bed. His mind was whirling with broken vows and unkempt promises. He hadn't made it two weeks before falling back under her spell. She'd come to him, at least. He hadn't gone begging to her. But all it took was one look, green eyes filled with knowledge, and he forgot all his oaths sworn in anger and he had fallen back between her legs. He had fucked her so easily. It was like returning to battle that had already been fought. He knew the layout, the planning of it. He knew where and who to fight.

He'd thought of Merilyn though. It'd angered him. He hated it. Every time he looked down at the golden hair splayed on the pillow, his eyes would remind him of a crimson curtain that waited back at home. When his eyes met her green piercing gaze, he'd remember deep, unfathomable blue eyes filled with tears, looking up at him with trust. The chit of a girl invaded his mind. It wasn't love. He knew it wasn't. It was guilt. And that guilt turned his stomach.

Cersei's love was all Jaime had ever known. He'd told her over and over again, with sweetened, honeyed words how much he loved her. She was all that had mattered, once upon a time. But it had changed. Their love had been warped, maybe even forgotten. Cersei grew to love power. Jaime loved a shadow of a sister that had grown up.

With those twisted thoughts floating through his head, Jaime picked himself up and went down to break his fast.

Tyrion was already eating with Tommen and Myrcella. The two children were laughing brightly at their Uncle as he pulled another face. Jaime dropped down in the chair next to him and filled his flagon with wine immediately. He realized he was getting as bad as his twin with his drinking habits.

"You've had a raven," Tyrion said nonchalantly, "the girl's handwriting, if I am correct."

Jaime took it from Tyrion's hand without glancing at it and habitually tore open the seal. It was written daintily and precisely. It was also short and to the point. Jaime dropped the letter. Tyrion looked up at him then curiously.

"Bad news?"

Jaime cleared his throat, "she writes that she is with child."

"Well, well, done, my brother!" Tyrion grinned, almost mockingly.

Jaime drank heavily from his flagon and looked back down at the letter. Starks were fertile then. He'd only lain with the girl twice. The guilt he'd felt earlier crept back up.

Both Cersei and Tywin walked in then. The King followed closely behind. Cersei kissed both of her children and sat down next to Robert, while Tywin sat on the opposite side. He noticed Jaime's hands holding the letter.

"News?" He asked curtly.

"Jaime is to be a father, Father." There was no mistaking Tyrion's lighthearted tone this time. He was enjoying this far too much for Jaime's liking.

Cersei choked on her rabbit and Tywin looked at Jaime calculatingly.

"Did she write of anything else?" His voice was flat and uncaring.

Jaime shook his head, trying to read Cersei's reaction. She was furious. He noticed he didn't feel at all drawn to her when she was angry like he had been when Merilyn was upset. He felt nothing short of exasperation.

"I don't know why you didn't bring the girl along," broke in Baratheon casually.

Tywin looked at him with veiled contempt, "We came to protect the King. Why expose a girl to that?"

Robert chuckled, "The threat is low. Just better safe than sorry. Besides, you're newly wed. I'm sure you long to back in her bed, come now, Ser Jaime." He winked roguishly.

Cersei stood up suddenly and said something about training a new girl and left in a whirl of scarlet gown. Jaime stood up also and said he would join the men in the yard to spar. He caught up with her easily and grabbed her arm, forcing her to stop walking and face him.

"What did you expect?" He asked her, infuriated at her anger at him.

"I didn't expect you to fall into the whore's bed so quickly. Or so often." She spat at him.

"She's my wife. There would be many questions if we didn't have a child. You know this. It's no different from you and Baratheon."

She hissed angrily, "Baratheon had one night with me. The rest were with you."

"You got with child from that night, am I correct?" Jaime's voice was low.

She slapped him then and spun around, leaving him standing there.

He groaned in frustration and lashed out with his fist at the wall once. The searing pain in his fist spurred him forward, out of the castle, into the training yards. The Seven have mercy on whichever poor soul volunteered to fight him first.


	13. Chapter 13

_Hello everyone! First I want to thank you guys so, so much for your reviews. They really are the reason why I keep writing. I love seeing the guesses and theories (and most of you are spot on!) I needed to get through the next few chapters quickly as my muse has been working me hard the past few days. So while they aren't proofread 600 times like I normally do, they're getting the plot where it needs to be. Thanks always for your guys' encouragement and the fact that you keep coming back for more. XOXO Lady F_

* * *

Merilyn looked at Willas uncomprehendingly, "The King is requesting my presence in Landing?"

"That's what he said, Milady." Willas' face was solemn.

"Why?" She demanded. Rubbing her temples, she felt a wave of nausea roll over her. Her mother had told her the first child always brought the worst sickness. She had several moons left until the child arrived and she was already desperate for the pregnancy to over with.

"He gave no reason."

"It's not like he has to," she bit out angrily. She was tired and sick. She didn't want to travel and she knew in King's Landing there would be no escape from the rest of the Lannisters, mainly her Good Father and the Queen.

Willas looked at her sympathetically, "You can claim you are too ill to travel, but…"

"He'd demand my presence next, instead of requesting." She sighed and stood up, "I'll have Leila begin packing. I don't want a large party. I'll tell Culwin he's in charge. Unless you'd rather stay?"

"No, Milady," Willas said quickly, "Someone will have to escort you."

"Petyr is capable. You have been training him well." She smoothed her skirts and fought back a yawn.

"Petyr is a boy," he scoffed.

Merilyn laughed, "And you aren't? How many namedays have you had, Willas?"

Willas straightened up, "18 and I have been in service much longer than Petyr. Milady, you'll need allies there."

She dropped her smile immediately and looked at him sharply, "What does that mean?"

He shuffled his feet, "I spoke out of turn, Lady. Please, forget it."

"I would have you tell me if you suspected something," she softened her tone, "Willas, your input is of great value to me."

"I only meant that you would need someone to watch over you, someone who already knows the Court and how it works. It really is a pit of snakes, Milady. I know I make light of it in the stories I tell. But in that city, everyone is an enemy and no one will think twice about stepping on you to get ahead. Power is intoxicating, even to those who think they have no taste for it." His tone sent a chill down her spine. But then he smiled, "But think of it, you'll get to see Blackwater Bay and the Red Keep."

She rolled her eyes at his forced cheeriness, "We'll leave on the morrow.

Willas hadn't overreached the truth about the beauty of King's Landing. The buildings were etched with beautiful symbols and every street had a sort of tree or plant, mixing nature and man eloquently. The sun shone brightly as they made their way inside the gates. She had stubbornly refused to take a carriage, instead riding the most docile mare Willas could find. He'd argued at first, but gave it up for a lost cause soon after. Leila followed unsteadily beside her. The girl was definitely unused to horses.

They reached the entrance of the castle, ending their trip through the city. At the entrance, she recognized Tyrion and smiled happily. If Tyrion was there, it meant she wouldn't have to face Cersei yet. They were never in each other's company long.

Tyrion smiled back and greeted her as she dismounted her horse with the help of a worrying Willas.

"My dear sister! I hope you have no objection to me calling you that. For I know you have many brothers, but I have but one sister and always wished for more." Tyrion's good mood was infectious and she found herself laughing at his jest.

"I have no objection, brother, and would be happy to be your sister in more than formality." She followed him as he led them further into the Castle.

"I trust the journey was well?"

She nodded, "Would you know exactly why my presence was requested?"

Tyrion laughed, "The King felt badly about separating newlyweds, especially newlyweds that he had brought together. He's always been a bit of a romantic at heart, in my thinking."

Merilyn stopped walking and looked at him in surprise, "Does Ser Jaime know that I have come?"

"It was to be his surprise, the King wished. Why do you think I have met you instead of your loving husband?"

She didn't know what to say to that. Her last interaction with Jaime before he left Castlerly Rock was a heated embrace that she still hadn't sorted out. He hadn't touched her in bed for a week, and then kissed her – no, mauled her – out of nowhere. And then he just up and left. She knew that part wasn't his own doing, but he had seemed eager to set out. She sighed and straightened her shoulders.

"Well, then we shall surprise him, shan't we?"

* * *

She was fast asleep on the bed when Jaime walked into his room. He'd come in from the yard, dripping with sweat and dirt from the exertion of taking on half of the Kingsguard. He stopped mid-step and looked down at his child wife lying peacefully. After the initial shock, he examined her more closely. There were dark circles apparent under her eyes and even now in sleep she seemed restless, as if in constant discomfort. Jaime knew more than a man's fair share about pregnancy and childbirth. He'd been with Cersei throughout all three of hers, and had tucked away pieces of knowledge. He had no idea then that he would actually need that knowledge later. He pushed her red hair back from her brow gently, checking for fever. She felt normal, but moaned so softly at the contact. He broke contact, afraid of waking her and left the room quietly.

As he stepped out into the hall, he nearly ran into Willas, who had looked like he was going to pull his sword out in an instant. Recognition flooded them both and Willas bowed his head.

"My lord," he greeted.

"When did you arrive?" Jaime asked, keeping his temper in check.

"A few hours ago, Ser."

Jaime ran a hand through his hair exasperatedly, "And no one thought to tell me?"

"Lord Tyrion informed my lady that it was to be a surprise for you. She felt tired from the ride and he brought her here to sleep. She was supposed to see you at dinner."

"She looks sick," Jaime said flatly, "Why would she journey out here unnecessarily?"

"She has been sick often and most tired. But the King requested it. She felt it unwise to refuse."

Damn Baratheon. Could he not be content with the pieced together marriage Jaime was in? Instead, the King wanted to flaunt his damn power, probably for his father's benefit.

"I'll be in the yard. Get me when she wakes. Don't let her out of the room." Jaime didn't wait for a response but stormed back outside. He didn't go to the yard, though. He paced in the garden just outside the stairs. He desperately wanted to send the girl back to Castlerly Rock. She would be subject to Cersei's moods here, which would be even worse now that Merilyn carried Jaime's child. He doubted even a headstrong Stark girl could hold her own against a rejected lover.

He didn't want her alone though. That thought had been poking at him since he found out about the babe. He tried telling himself it was no different than his children by Cersei. But it was different.

It was _his _child. It would bear his name and would be his heir. It wouldn't be a dark secret, but a joy that he could proclaim to anyone. He just didn't want the girl alone at his gloomy house, forced to go through the new changes and fears that even Cersei had felt without some kind of comfort. He had tried to persuade himself that the servants were enough. But he knew the joy women got in sharing their new experiences with the men who had given them the life in their womb. He denied it in his head, but knew he had wanted to be back at Castlerly Rock with his wife.

And now she was here instead, because the meddling King had gotten a laugh out of it.

He groaned aloud and paced more furiously, trying to sort out his rambling thoughts.

Then a soft voice broke in, "My Lord?"

And there she was. Young and innocent, the mother of _his_ child was standing in front of him, looking unsure of what to do. He was unsure himself.

He cleared his throat, "Willas was told to keep you in the room."

"I saw you from the window. Willas said you would be in the yard and left to get you. I figured I might as well just come out. There's no danger between stairs and the garden." She smiled softly.

"The King didn't tell me you were arriving."

She shrugged, "Some joke of his perhaps. I must admit, I am happy to see King's Landing at last after hearing so much about it."

He ignored the attempt at polite conversation, "Willas said you'd been very sick."

"Willas talks a lot." She shot back airily. He looked at her emotionlessly and she continued on, "I'm with child, Ser. Septa Aliane said it is more than expected. My own mother confirmed that she had a horrible sickness while carrying Robb."

"Did you get enough sleep?" He gestured to the window of his room.

She nodded, and walked over to the bench, sitting and looking up at him. The circles were more pronounced when she wasn't sleeping and he saw her touch her stomach lightly.

"If you're not well, we can make an excuse and go back home. The King's had his fun."

She smiled genuinely up at him and he felt guilt harden in his chest.

"I swear I am fine. There's nothing out of sorts at all," she looked at her fingers hesitantly and then back up at him, "Thank you for the concern."

The Seven Gods could kill him now.

She was thanking him for his concern about her vomiting her stomach up every time she moved. Of course he was concerned.

He paced again, forgetting that she was there. When he thought about it, he hadn't really treated her with much concern though. He'd let her get attacked by a Wildling, forced her to help care for his own men, let her face his father without any defense from him, attacked her in her own bed, and then contradicted her in front of servants undermining her authority and sending a girl she cared for away.

He looked back at the girl who was watching him with shuttered eyes. She had no friends, no family. And Jaime had conveniently forgotten that until now. He sighed and sat down next to her, making an important decision then and there.


	14. Chapter 14

_Hey, everyone! Sorry about the delay. Holidays have been insane. Thank you all for your support and reviews. I cannot tell you how much I love them and each and every one of you! Please keep them up. The reviews motivate me. And the more I get, the faster I will post the next chapter. _

_Note: this chapter has some sensitive subject and is a little graphic. It deals with Merilyn's pregnancy. I wouldn't really call it a trigger, but it could for some people and I'd rather just be safe than sorry. Hope you guys enjoy the drama! _

_xoxo Lady F_

* * *

He was different. Two months of being handled so gently, she might as well have been glass to him. He was attentive and caring. Every wish she could've ever had was fulfilled before she even knew she wanted it. And she hated it. She felt like he was caring for a child, not his wife. She gladly would've preferred the angry storm that had come to her bed not too long ago to this new parental figure Jaime had morphed into. He was just no longer Jaime.

She coughed again futilely, feeling the acid burn her throat and her eyes tear up. Willas was standing discreetly off to the side, looking anywhere but directly at her. She moaned and retched again. She whispered prayers to the Seven and to the Old Gods begging for mercy of any kind. After she had thoroughly emptied the contents of her stomach onto the grass of the courtyard, she straightened slowly and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

She took a deep breath, savouring the feel of nighttime on her throat.

"Milady?" Willas stepped towards her cautiously.

She smiled wanly, "I think I'm fine for now."

She continued walking forward to the Hall, straightening her shoulders habitually and touching her hair softly.

It sometimes bothered her that she wasn't as pretty as the Southern women and she knew they all looked at her in distaste with her Northern countenance. But the sicker she got, the less she began to care.

"I'm really fine, Willas." She'd noticed him looking at her uncertainly, as their footsteps echoed in the stone hallway.

"You look sad, Lady." His voice was quiet but strong.

Her steps faltered and she glanced at him, "what makes you say that?"

"You've looked sad since we've gotten here." He didn't look back at her, but instead look out over the courtyard, "Maybe we should leave soon, go home? Before your condition makes it impossible."

She forced a cheerfulness into her response, "I'm not sad, Willas. Kings Landing is beautiful."

He looked up sharply and stepped in front of her, "No one is around, Lady. You don't need to perform for them."

She began walking again, ignoring his presence now. She knew she should berate him; tell him he was out of line. His disrespectful behavior should be checked. But as she walked towards the Great Hall, she realised she just didn't have the energy.

If this were Winterfell, she'd be with her sisters now. Arya would've said something biting to Sansa and a fight created. Merilyn wouldn't be sick every few minutes, she wouldn't be married to a stranger who was so watchful yet so distant to her, and she wouldn't be performing happiness for anyone.

Never had she felt more alone than she did in the Great Hall of Kings Landing.

Jaime rarely ate with them, but the Queen never failed to ask after her presence. Merilyn had missed dinner one night and had been treated to an actual visit from the Queen and her court. She never failed to sit at the table again.

She sighed heavily and nodded to Jarent who stood at the entrance. He winked and nodded his own head in return. Merilyn walked past him and into the hall, smiling widely. No one would know the new Lady Lannister was desperately homesick and hopelessly depressed. The entire Court thought her happy and thriving. And she was, at least, proud of that.

Cersei looked as beautiful as usual and Merilyn swallowed back annoyance. She, herself, was showing her condition and her dresses stayed unlaced now, letting the stomach fill out the dress. She knew her hair was boring and Northern-styled. And she knew she looked pale and wan. She kept smiling.

To her surprise, her husband actually sat at the table, next to his brother, conversing quietly with Tywin. She walked up to her seat next to him and sat down slowly. Jaime nodded at her and then stood, turning and leaving the hall. She looked to Tyrion in surprise and he only responded with a shrug.

The Hall was only partially full and many eyes were watching her. She whispered a greeting to the remaining people around her and looked down at her plate, trying hard not to acknowledge the rolling of her stomach. Instead of getting better, the sickness stopped for a few weeks and then returned with a hefty vengeance, making it impossible for Merilyn to feel at all like her normal self. She felt constantly tired and ill.

"Ned Stark is failing the duties given to the supposed 'guardian of the North'," Tywin's voice was loud and full of contempt, "These raids have only gotten worse. The Wildlings are practically running loose up there and he is doing nothing."

"Lord Stark has sent word to the Wall and they are trying to figure out how and why the Wildlings are going further South." Tyrion's voice was matter-of-fact.

"Since the older boy's injury, Stark has lost the ability to lead. He's done nothing of use, besides to cower at the bed of his son." Tywin gulped down wine and gave the empty glass to his cupbearer for more.

Merilyn looked at him in shock. She tried hard to process. They couldn't be talking about Robb. Her mother would've sent word. The spoon she'd been holding dropped from her hand with a clatter. She glanced over at Tyrion who was watching her carefully. Something in his gaze made her pause, hold onto the question that had been on the tip of her tongue.

Tyrion looked away from her and back to his father, "I know not what rumors you are privy to, Father, but _Lord_ Stark hasn't been back to Winterfell since the last raid. Don't worry though. You shall be able to bring up these… concerns with the man himself."

Tywin glanced sharply at his youngest son, "Do you know something I don't?"

"He will be here soon. The King wishes to hold council with him and Arryn about the matter of the Wildlings. The eldest boy will take over the guard vigil while Stark travels here." A brief look her way and Merilyn felt the tension dissipate. Robb was well. And then she understood what Tyrion had just said. Her father was coming to King's Landing. For the first time in what felt like years, Merilyn smiled without thought about acting.

* * *

Her screams were piercing him to his very bones. Merilyn was lying in agony on the wooden bedding, both crying, screaming, and praying at different intervals. Maester Pycell stood at the foot of the bed, his hand on her small stomach, feeling for the child he said.

Jaime had failed again to protect her. She had been leaving the Hall, furiously escaping whatever was behind her. Something had angered her. He saw the flaming eyes and taut lips, even from down in the courtyard. He had called up to her, startling her, and in that one moment, that one second, she had fallen, slipped on the stone steps. The sound of her body hitting the stairs, one after the other, was haunting him more than her screaming now. Willas had gotten to his wife first. In a brief moment, Jaime wondered why Willas was so often around Merilyn. But then he saw the blood, he saw her face, and he forgot the very thought.

He was carrying her to Pycell when the screaming had started. She begged him to make it stop. She knew her body was trying to rid her of her child and it terrified her.

"Too soon! Too soon!" She shrieked over and over, in between cries of pain. Her hand gripped his agonizingly, but he whispered soothingly, stroking her hair back from her forehead. He felt a horrible feeling of déjà vu, remembering the cries of his own mother years ago, the labor that birthed his brother and killed her in the same moment. He swallowed his own fear, looking down at his young wife who had quieted for a moment and was looking at Pycell in terror. He hadn't realized Pycell was talking. Pulling himself from his thoughts, he listened with growing dread.

"The baby has to come out," he was talking to the midwife next to him in low tones, "Her body is too damaged to carry it."

Merilyn shook her head fiercely, "No, he's my baby."

Jaime interrupted her, "Maester Pycell is a healer."

"You cannot!" Her voice screamed out, "No, I just need to lie down. He'll be fine if I rest. Please," her words were cut off by a low moan of pain wrenched from her. The pressure increased on his hand and the perspiration dripped down her face. She stared at Jaime, a tear slipping out of the corner of her eye, silently begging him to intervene.

"Merilyn, we can have more children," his tone was almost beseeching, trying to persuade her to see reason. He flinched as she began to cry. Her soft sobs were worse than the screams of pain from earlier and he stroked her hand helplessly.

Pycell acted before Jaime realized what was happening, putting a cloth to Merilyn's face, covering her mouth and nose. He saw her eyes darken and she slipped into unconsciousness. The hold on his hand slipped away.

"You should leave, Ser," the midwife murmured softly, handing a knife of sorts to Pycell.

Jaime stood up suddenly, "What are you doing?"

Pycell looked up in surprise, "The babe must come out. There's no movement and more than likely it is dead inside her. She will die if we do not remove it."

His stomach turned as he looked down at the small, protruding stomach of the still woman on the bed. He sat back down slowly and took her loose hand again, staring at her face. He prayed more intensely in that moment than he had in many years.

"I'm not leaving her." Hadn't he just sworn only two months ago that he would put her first? Hadn't he forsaken Cersei's warmth and bed just so the guilt he felt every time he looked at Merilyn would dissipate? He'd made the decision to keep her from harm, even if that meant treating her like glass. He'd made the decision to make her happy, not to push her. He'd let her be the docile wife she wanted to be. He'd left her alone in bed, though his desperation to take her against a wall had reached dangerous heights. Jaime knew he had done everything right. He made the right decision.

But he had failed to uphold that decision. She came to harm and Jaime let it happen. He stared harder at his wife's face as Pycell cut the red stripe and the blood dripped slowly down the side of her.


	15. Chapter 15

"I want to go home," she repeated again, not caring that Tyrion and Tywin were both staring as she stood in front of her husband.

"Winterfell is a long –" Jaime started.

"I said nothing about Winterfell, Ser. I said I wanted to go home. We've been here over four moons now. The ships from Essos have both come and gone. Your men are restless and Castlerly Rock has been without guidance long enough."

"I've trusted Maester Culwin with the keeping of-," Tywin's annoyed voice broke in.

Merilyn threw him a haughty look, which surprisingly stopped him midsentence. She looked back at her husband, "If you have no objections, I wish to go as soon as possible."

Jaime smiled slightly and Merilyn felt her chest expand for a brief moment. It was the first smile she had seen from him in a long time.

Tyrion interjected before Jaime could respond, "Lord Stark arrives within two days. I would've thought you were looking forward to seeing him."

She barely managed to keep from shooting him a contemptuous glance as well and had the fact that she liked Tyrion to thank. Instead, she ignored him and continued waiting for Jaime's own answer.

He, however, seemed to understand that she was trying to ignore Tyrion and decided to align himself with the cad.

"I had thought Tyrion was right, my wife?"

"My father will be consumed with Court affairs and I've no wish to trouble him." She tossed her braid over her shoulder and resisted putting her hands on her hips.

"The King has requested a Lannister Lord stay to discuss the movement of men going North to help. I understand you wish to leave and we will… by the end of the week. Is that acceptable for you, my lady Lannister?" His tone was mocking her.

She took a deep breath and clenched her fists slowly. Nodding, she turned and left the room, careful not to slam the door - as much as she wished she could. She walked down the steps from the room, leading her to another hallway. Her steps were careful and hesitant at some moments.

The healing wasn't complete yet, but she was doing much better than she had been. The first week had been excruciating, as both her body and her mind were extremely damaged.

She'd awoken after two days, or so Leila had told her in a subdued voice. The maid had also said that the sleeping form in the chair beside her bed hadn't moved once since Pycell left Merilyn's room. Jaime woke shortly after she. He repeated the instructions Pycell had given him, stay in bed for a week, try and eat light things, the list went on and then he had left. He returned briefly and infrequently throughout the next week, but Merilyn hadn't noticed really.

All she knew was her anger. She snapped at the littlest things until even Willas began to avoid stepping into her room. She was angry with everyone, the Seven and the Olde, Jaime, Maester Pycell, the midwife, but mostly herself. Her body couldn't care for a baby and she had failed at something so natural, so normal. Her baby had died because of her. She still imagined him, for she had been so sure it would be a boy with his father's hair and mother's eyes. And it hurt, like a fresh cut that was swollen and hot to touch. It hurt so very much.

She had no memory of the last Winter, for she had been but a small child. But if she ever had to describe Winter in her own words, she would use that month as an example. The grey cold and the misery mixing together to weigh her down constantly was her very own Winter. Anger fueled the biting cold of her surroundings and misery robbed her of the very air in her lungs.

But Summer crept back into her world. Slowly, in the form of little things, sunshine pushed away Winter's cloud and cold. When she watched Tommen play with his kittens, when Leila scolded Willas like an old mother hen and when he made grotesque faces behind her back, when Tyrion delivered letters to her from Winterfell, the grey colour of her world was replaced with the greens and blues and yellows of life in Summer. And the fresh cut became a scar. She accepted it. It didn't mean she forgot, but it meant she healed.

She walked into her own rooms and sat down gingerly on the edge of her wooden chair next to the fire. She knew she should try and finish the blanket she had started for her babe. She changed the colour scheme and replaced the red and gold that she had originally planned with red and grey – the house colours of Lady Adeline Hightower whose child would be born within a fortnight. It was now a gift Merilyn would give.

The Lady Stark sighed and picked up the stitching, looking out of her window at the blue sky as she did. As she was daydreaming about the colour of the sky at Winterfell, the door slammed shut so loudly, she started and pricked herself hard.

Gasping with surprise and pain, she looked up to see an angry Jaime staring down at her. She sucked the tip of her finger and made an expectant face.

"Just what were you trying to accomplish by accosting me with your _demands_ in front of my father?"

Irritation flooded her. She took her finger out of her mouth and set her needlework down, "It would be easier to accost you with my supposed demands alone if you were ever actually alone, my lord."

"Quit exaggerating." His voice was terse and she knew, with some grim satisfaction, that Tywin had no doubt berated his son for his wife's lack of manners.

"You have your own quarters now. I never see you in the Hall. You rise earlier than anyone in the castle and you go to rest later than anyone. When you're not fighting the very demons of the dark in the Yard, you're constantly at the beck and call of your father. It was only by happy chance that Lord Tyrion was in attendance today. Exactly what am I exaggerating, Ser?"

"Why do you want to leave? As touching as your little home comment was, we both know you have little love for Castlerly Rock." He took a step closer to her.

"Is it not possible that I just wish to be away from here?" Her tone was sharper than she meant and to cover it she picked up her embroidery again, giving her hands something to do.

His face remained emotionless, "I thought you were getting on well."

"Well, I'm not," she stabbed the needle through the fabric angrily, "I'm tired of it here. I'm sick of the people. I'm sick of the whispers. And I'm sick of having to walk past those _damned steps_ every _damned day_!" She threw down her thread and looked up at him angrily. The face she met made her stop full force.

Jaime looked as if Merilyn had actually struck him. The blood drained from his face and he had a horrified expression. She stood, gazing up at him uncertainly.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, backtracking quickly. "I didn't mean to upset you. I didn't realise it _would_ upset you."

His gaze snapped to her face, "What does that mean?"

She shifted, "I… don't know? I just figured…"

"You didn't think the steps I saw you fall down would bother me? That I wouldn't see the blood at the bottom every time I walked past? That you were the only one this affected?" His tone wasn't angry, but it wasn't his normal, controlled tone either. There was an undercurrent, something making his voice thicker – filled with actual emotion.

She breathed sharply, processing this. She had written off Jaime so easily as someone who didn't care. She watched him with his own family, his father especially, and had realised that that was how her husband had survived all those years. He simply buried it all. He simply didn't care. The name Kingslayer was no longer an insult because it no longer registered. But this admittance, right here and now, made her think differently about her assumptions.

"You never spoke to me of this." She said, staring at the ground, unsure of what to really say.

"You were angry." The emotion was gone was from his voice now and his statement rang very matter-of-factly.

She sat down, all the fury seeping out of her, "I never meant to say that none of this affected you. It wasn't just my child. But I thought since you didn't come to see me after Pycell said my body was ready for another…" she trailed off, blushing trying hard to remind herself that she was no longer a child but a woman and women handle these things with dignity, "I just want to be home. _My _home, where I don't have to be reminded every day that I'm a stranger here, that I am not a Southern lady. I don't want to play their games anymore."

Jaime's voice was like ice, "You aren't playing their games anymore. You've already lost their game. You lost the game the minute you started believing them better than you just because they were raised in Kings Landing and are _Southern ladies_. Do you think Southern ladies could've defended themselves when their husbands failed to in a Wildlings raid? Could they have healed men's broken bones and gashes when their husbands asked them too? You honestly believe they would've stood up to a Maester of sixty namedays to protect a pregnant maid? Do you think they would've had the audacity to walk into their husband's chambers and demand to go home? I don't know when you started comparing yourself to them," he spat the word like a curse, "but I've had enough."

She sputtered angrily, "I didn't demand, the Seven damn you! I said I wanted to and asked your permission!"

"Gods, woman! I give you every example of your superiority to them and you fixate on the fact that I used the word demand?" He ran a hand through his hair exasperatedly.

"I beg your pardon if I don't feel superior. My husband treats me like a child, the Queen mocks my failure to carry a child, ladies whisper about my looks, and my Goodfather thinks I am the worst choice in the entire kingdom for his son – that he doesn't even like!"

"I don't treat you like a child, though you are certainly acting like one now." Merilyn's voice had risen to a yell, but his tone, though the dry detachment was still present, remained cool.

"At Castlerly Rock, you pushed me against a wall and we were caught by a Septa, but here, you've not once touched me, nor have you given any indication -."

He interrupted her, "So your pride is hurt because I haven't come to you in bed?"

"Wha-, no? I, my, I – my pride isn't hurt!" She thought about his question in confusion, was her pride hurt? No, that made no sense. Her pride was hurt when Lady Hestia mocked her dress one of the first nights here. Her feelings about Jaime not coming to her were completely different from that.

"Then what, you miss sex?" He said it harshly, falling back on vulgarity.

She stared at him coldly, "I never understood sex. I couldn't possibly miss it."

He blinked twice and then threw his head back with laughter. The sound echoing loudly throughout the room, he sat down in the chair across from her. The laughter faded though his amusement still lit his face.

"Truce?"

She felt like agreeing with him, if only to keep the amused look on his face. It made her heart ache slightly to see and hear his laughter. A thought struck her suddenly, "You don't think, I mean you couldn't possibly believe you _failed_ me, can you?"

The amusement left his face and back was his emotionless front she'd grown to know so well, "Of course I have. You've lived some sixteen namedays without much harm coming to you. But in the course of six moons with me, you've been both attacked by Wildlings and fell down stone stairs. You've come to more harm in my care than anywhere else in your life."

He felt guilty. Merilyn wanted to shout and dance all over the room. He wasn't angry or bored with her. He didn't avoid her company and bed because he was sick of her. He did it because he thought himself harmful. She felt like a weight had been lifted.

"Well, that's foolish." She kept her tone cool, instead of filled with the relief she was experiencing.

He cocked an eyebrow at her, "Oh?"

"You didn't invite Wildlings into our tents and you certainly didn't ask them to attack me, did you?"

He didn't answer and she prodded again, "well, did you?"

"'Course not, but that's not the -."

"And you didn't push me down the stairs, did you?"

He rolled his eyes, "Don't talk nonsense -."

"My lord, I fail to see how exactly my misfortune has to do with your failing at anything. And I don't want to hear anymore about it."

He let out an exasperated sigh and put his face in both hands. He looked tired to her and she felt an odd urge to wrap her arms around him in comfort. How long had it been since someone comforted Jaime the way Catelyn had comforted Merilyn? He looked back up at her a moment later with a familiar smirk on his face.

"Well, as long as I'm here in your rooms again, we could begin lessons in a certain area so you're understanding will be increased," his voice was lower, huskier and she recognized the familiar warmth in her stomach return.

She was surprised at the sudden turn in the conversation, but she'd wanted this hadn't she? Since Cersei had remarked, loudly enough for the court to hear, how Jaime must not have found Merilyn attractive, Merilyn had wanted to feel otherwise. Maybe that was why she had gone to his rooms, to provoke him into a fight, to make him notice her once again.

Jaime stood above her, one arm resting on the head of the chair, his eyes looking into hers. She tried to look certain, to look appealing.

She couldn't help the question from bursting out though, "In the middle of the day, my lord?"

He chuckled lowly and dipped his mouth to her throat, kissing it softly, "yes, my little wolf, in the middle of the day."


	16. Chapter 16

He was gentle again, flashing her back to the sensations of their first night together. His hands grazed over the back of her dress, as she stood from the chair, sliding her own hands up his chest to rest on his shoulders.

She was struck again by how big Jaime actually was, when he never appeared to be so. She felt the ribbons coming undone. She felt his teeth bite edge of her lower lip. She felt her hands grip his shoulders. She felt herself kissing him and she wondered if he remembered being caught by the Septa last time they had done this. Jaime broke their kiss and move slowly down her throat. Amazement flooded her as her dress slipped to the floor. Multitasking must be a skill they taught in the Kingsguard.

Her slip was flimsy, one of the summer ones Leila had brought. The cotton rubbed against her breast deliciously as Jaime gathered the fabric top laces in two fingers, while the other hand caressed her hair. Tired of his attentions to her neck, Merilyn tilted slightly back and maneuvered to catch his mouth with hers again. He tasted warm and familiar, like a drink she'd had a long time ago but forgotten the name. Feeling brave, she darted her tongue forward, licking the bottom of his lip. His shoulders stiffened underneath her hands. She giggled before she could stifle it and Jaime broke away from the kiss and looked down at her. His green eyes were filled with amusement and something more. He merely smirked and caught her in another kiss, this one more forceful. This one signaling an end goal.

Her hair tumbled down and his hand laced around it, his fingers brushing her scalp. The same time, she felt his right hand push the bottom of her slip up and grasp her thigh, using it as leverage to lift her from the floor. Instinctively she raised her other leg and wrapped them both around Jaime. He crossed the room swiftly and laid her on her bed she'd been alone in for so long. Forgetting to be shy and taking the opportunity she had, she reached up and undid the laces on his shirt. He shrugged out of it quickly and leaned over her once more. There was a bruise on his side that was coloured a deep purple. She reached her hand and brushed over it carefully.

"Practice in the yard," his mouth said against her neck. The exhale of his words tickled her throat and she squirmed, pressing her legs together unconsciously, giving her partial relief against the throbbing she felt. Her heart was racing and it seemed like she had a fever. Jaime's face reflected the same. Sweat had begun to pool at the very tip of his hairline and he was hard against her thigh.

"You're always in the yard," she whispered, her fingers trailing across his chest, relishing the feel of it.

Jaime moved down her chest suddenly to mouth one of her breasts unexpectedly. The feel of wet cloth and his warm tongue against her nipple was agonizingly pleasurable and she let out a moan.

"Being in the yard controlled to urge to do this to you," he murmured, his mouth still skillfully managing its task.

One hand moved to cup the breast forlorn of attention and the other slid up the outside of her thigh. She most certainly had a fever if her blood boiling in her very veins was any indication. She groaned more loudly, feeling the similar desperation she'd felt the first night. Somewhere outside of her sensation flooded mind, she heard his boots drop to the ground and felt him move more further onto the bed, though neither his mouth nor hands abandoned their tasks, which was to make Merilyn cry from frustration is what she believed. Her hands grasped desperately and found their way into Jaime's hair. It felt soft and she had a sudden image of straw. She giggled again softly. Jaime stilled his ministrations.

"Is something amusing you?"

She laughed, "I'm sorry, I was just thinking… your hair, it's like straw."

He cocked an eyebrow and remarked wryly, "If you're still able think about my hair, then I'm obviously not enhancing your understanding well enough."

He left no room for a response, but kissed her instead. His hand moved from the outside of her thigh to the inside, stroking the soft flesh gently.

The door burst open loudly and Willas strode in. Mid-step, he stopped looking at the pair, horrified. Merilyn squeaked in surprise and looked from Willas up to Jaime who was staring at Willas angrily.

"If you have any wish of remaining in the service of Castlerly Rock, you'll leave immediately," he ground out between gritted teeth, his hand still clamped on Merilyn's thigh. She would ask him to move it, but that would bring attention to the fact that it was on her thigh, very close to her most intimate spot. She knew her face was blushed brilliantly. Seven hells, she could drown in her embarrassment.

"I beg pardon, my lord," Willas averted his eyes to the ground, "Lord Stark is here. He's asking for my Lady."

"Thank you for that enlightening announcement. Now get out." Jaime's voice was cold and she would've flinched had it been directed at her.

The door shut more swiftly than she imagined Willas could move, but she relaxed as she heard the familiar click. She relaxed well enough to giggle lightly in fact. Jaime looked down at her, seeming far calmer.

"You and your giggling." He groaned and dropped his forehead to meet hers, "You'll need to get dressed again."

She smiled widely, "That's what happens in the middle of the afternoon, my lord."

He got off her stiffly, allowing her to sit up and right her slip. He pulled his shirt over his head and then paused in the act of handing her the dress that had fallen to the floor.

"When did Willas start entering your chambers unannounced?"

She took the dress from his hand and stood up next to him, feeling slightly embarrassed about being half-dressed in front of him and then almost laughing at her own ridiculousness. She stepped into the dress and slid on the sleeves.

"I don't think I've ever shut my door before, except when Leila leaves before I go to sleep. So he's never walked in unannounced."

"It's inappropriate behavior. Even if you have chosen him for a guard," Jaime gestured for her to turn around and she obliged, lifting her hair away for him to lace her up.

"I didn't choose him. You did," she huffed, "At least, I thought you did. He just started being… around at Castlerly Rock and I assumed…" she trailed off with a shiver as Jaime's finger traced slow patterns onto her bare neck.

"Mmm," he hummed, "perhaps it was my father, though Willas arrived with me and I doubt he knows anything about the boy." He finished her lacings and then turned her to face him, gesturing to the door, "Your father awaits."

* * *

_Sorry if it was too short or had any grammar errors. This was rushed but I at least wanted to get it posted tonight. Cheers. xxx_


	17. Chapter 17

She fidgeted too much for his liking. She played with her sleeves and touched her hair repeatedly until he felt like unpinning the infernal mass and letting it fall down in her normal style. He knew she was nervous, walking across the castle's grounds with her husband by her side. What would she tell Lord Stark? A family chat about the Wildlings attack she was in, the man she killed, or mayhap they could discuss the child she lost and the husband who ignored her.

Jaime wanted nothing more than to skip the entire ludicrous meeting and just go out on a patrol with some of the Kingsguard instead. But Merilyn's earlier comment prevented him from acting upon that want. He didn't think he was always in the yard or never alone, but when she had said it, it had somehow rung true. Never before was Jaime's time in the yard monitored. And the damned woman was acting as if he had anything else to do.

He remembered what they had been doing just moments ago and smirked to himself. Maybe there were other things besides just sparring.

They stopped outside the doors to one of the guest quarters. He glanced down at Merilyn, who looked as if she was steeling herself for a battle. On impulse, he reached out and brushed a strand of her hair back from her face and leaned down, kissing her lightly on the forehead. Though he managed to suppress his own surprise at his actions, hers plainly showed on her face.

And then she smiled at him.

Not the smile she put on before walking into the hall at dinner. Not the smile she wore when trying to seem patient and understanding. And not the smile she had when she played the perfect wife part. It was the smile that made him feel breathless. It was the smile that he had missed but hadn't been aware he had.

He placed his hand on the small of her back, pushed open the door, and entered the room with her. Lord Stark was seated at a small writing table, staring into the fire pensively. Their entrance caught his attention and as he turned, he smiled seeing his eldest daughter standing in the room. Jaime knew, in an instant, where Merilyn got her smile. Merilyn hesitated a moment, staring up at Jaime and he realized she was waiting for his permission. He nodded for her to go and she flung herself forward into her father's waiting arms.

Jaime watched the pair impassively. Merilyn had missed her father greatly, that was obvious, and he was sure he saw the sheen of tears over her eyes for a brief second. While Lord Stark gave less away on his face, Jaime saw the tightness of the man's arms as he hugged his child.

"Touching reunion," King Baratheon grunted from the doorway. He strode in purposefully, "I'm seeing you sooner than I would've guessed."

Stark released Merilyn from his grasp and bowed to the King. She curtsied lightly and then, to his great surprise, walked back to Jaime and stood at his side. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Stark stiffen. Hiding his amusement, Jaime wrapped an arm around her and stroked a thumb casually across Merilyn's neck. He saw her slight shiver, though she tried to hide it, and pushed down the wave of desire that crashed over him. Taking liberties with his daughter in front of him might push Lord Stark too far.

"Well, I'll make it short, your Grace," Stark began speaking, "the Lord Commander at the Wall say they've not enough men. The Wildlings are organized somehow. Led by a man they call King-Beyond-The-Wall. They're mostly crossing the Bay of Seals to enter into the North. No one has been able to discern a pattern from their attacks."

"How are they finding cover to hide away from our soldiers than?" The King demanded, staring into the fire.

Jaime put his hand onto Merilyn's back and made to lead her out of the room, but the King's voice stopped him.

"Nay, Lannister. Stay, for you will be part of this discussion."

Merilyn leaned towards the door, but Jaime latched onto part of her dress, signaling her to stay. She raised her eyebrows in a way that he found immediately endearing. He leaned down to her ear.

"If I must sit through this, then you will suffer with me as well. After all, I'm only here because of you."

The King and Lord Stark had moved to sit at the table, looking at a map that had been laid out upon it. The corner of Merilyn's lips upturned slightly and she followed Jaime to a seat.

"The only group of Wildlings to have been found were found camped out near Queenscrown. This is nothing unusual so it does us no good. Some member of their party knows the Seven Kingdoms intimately."

Merilyn was intently studying the map. Every so often she would glance up at her father with a look of admiration and then go back to staring at the map. He knew the Stark family was close. The girl sitting in the chair so near to him had never known anything different from the life she had in the North until Jaime had taken her away from it all. And yet, she still sat here. Many, many marriages that he knew were so much like his sister and Baratheon's. Without loyalty, without happiness. But today his wife had stormed into his rooms, her hair in curled strands falling down her back and her eyes alight in determination, demanding to go home. And not home to Winterfell, but home to _his _home. She always surprised him.

Out of boredom mostly, Jaime let his hand caress her neck softly. He twirled a finger around in a circle at the base softly, almost absentmindedly. There was no real need for him to intently listen to the King and Stark's conversation. The men and money Baratheon needed would be provided, whether Jaime agreed with their strategy or not.

It was delightful to be able to touch a woman in public. Secrecy was never Jaime's comfort and it felt almost like he was declaring his territory every time he touched Merilyn. Something about that was more satisfying than the thrill of secrets and possibly being caught. His eyes caught her reddening skin and quick breaths. From just his hand upon her neck, she was reacting. Seven hells, he hated Willas in that moment more than he hated any man. It'd been too long since he'd been in her bed.

Baratheon stood unexpectedly and Jaime tore his gaze away from her face, though his hand remained, continuing the slow circles.

"I'll see to it Arryn comes by then. We'll see each other at the Small Council tonight and you'll be off again tomorrow."

The men stood and bowed in respect to the King as he left and Merilyn looked at her father, upset.

"Are you to leave so soon?"

Stark nodded, "Mer, the Wildlings are burning through the North, killing and sacking as they go. My Bannermen are at a loss for what to do. The Wall cannot stop many of them and until we figure out how to stop the sheer number of them, I have no choice but to keep going."

She bowed her head in understanding; "Lord Tyrion said something about one of my brothers coming to harm?"

Jaime heard the worry in her voice, knew the lack of answers to her questions had frustrated her to no end. The cruel comment from Joffery about dead Northern dogs had been the reason she had run out of the Hall and down those steps, several months ago. He had had no answers for her, even though he had wished he could set her mind at ease.

"Theon was injured in a scuffle with the Wildlings at one point. He was taken back to Winterfell to heal. None of your brothers have come to any harm."

The relief she felt was reflected in her shoulders as they relaxed. She directly stared at her father, "And Jon?"

Stark looked away, "He's gone to the Wall with Benjen."

She nodded and her gaze softened as she looked at her father, "You are tired. Eat and sleep, Father, please."

"If you tell me how you've been while I'll eat, then I will sleep for awhile yet more easily."

So she talked while he ate and Jaime watched her.

She talked of the kindness of the people at Castlerly Rock, the beauty of the ocean near it, the smell of salt in the air instead of snow. She talked of Tommen's fawn he had adopted recently and how she had gotten to feed it once. She talked of Jaime's frequency in the yard and his intense love of sparring. She talked of the beauty of King's Landing and how she was excited to have seen the place her father had always told stories about.

All the while she talked, Jaime watched her. She was happy, truly happy talking to her father. Her smile was wide; her words came quick and easy to her. He was amazed at her words often, though when she spoke of the greyness that encompassed Castlerly Rock he had to question her sanity. Everyone knew the North was the very embodiment of grey. She never once spoke of her unhappiness or the pain she felt. She complimented Jaime more than he deserved and he wondered how she could bear to say things of that nature about him, when all he had done was bring her to grief.

As Stark came to the end of his meal, Merilyn stood and kissed him atop his head, bidding him a good rest and comfort. She and Jaime took their leave from the room and headed back towards hers. The sun had long disappeared from sight and the moon hung in the black sky, being the brightest source of light.

"He seems older now, like there's more to carry on his shoulders," she remarked sadly.

He looked at her in surprise, struck by how she was talking to him so casually, as if they regularly talked about her family. He cleared his throat, "I'm sure it is more likely your outlook that has changed than his appearance. Though the raids have gotten worse and they must take a toll."

Merilyn sighed, "I wish sometimes he had not been the Watcher of the North, but instead a more normal man. Then he would never know these troubles and be much happier."

They walked into her room and Jaime shut the door behind him. Her eyes showed some surprise and he saw her glance nervously at the bed. He smirked lightly.

"I didn't follow you in to accost you. I have no wishes to be further interrupted by your guard again. I merely wished to converse before having to attend another fucking council meeting."

She blanched at his language, but then half-smiled, "Why do they need you instead of your father? He is still the Lord of Castlerly Rock, is he not?"

"My father finds it fitting that I catch up on all subjects of being a Lord, since I missed some of these lessons when I was in the Kingsguard. Being present for these meetings instead of him is the first step," he undid his buttons and stripped off his overshirt leaving him in the light cloth shirt from earlier. He sat down heavily in the chair by the fire.

He could feel Merilyn watching him as he rolled up his sleeves and leaned his head against the back of his chair. His temple was beginning to ache. Suddenly he felt soft fingers hesitantly slip over his forehead, gently rubbing in slow circles. The touch made him moan aloud softly. He didn't open his eyes, unsure if it would stop her from continuing or not, but merely kept enjoying the quiet touching. He found it oddly pleasing that she was willing touching him of her own accord. The warmth of the fire watched over him and he grew drowsy.

"My lord," hands pushed at his chest insistently, "Ser?"

He opened his eyes blearily and saw Merilyn looking at him with concern. Realizing he had fallen asleep, he straightened immediately and shook himself.

"What time is it?" He demanded, standing up and grabbing his overshirt.

"I let you sleep as long as possible. I only woke you because the council will convene soon. There's food there for you," she pointed at the table, "if you would have it."

"They'll serve some at the council for those who didn't go to the Hall tonight. I'll eat there." He pulled on his overshirt and ran a hand through his hair. He looked down at his wife, "Did you eat?"

"I sent Leila down to the kitchens for food. More than likely I'll hear about my absence from the hall tomorrow," she made a slight face, "but I was tired and wished to not see anyone."

"Tell Leila to prepare your things. We'll leave for Castlerly Rock tomorrow."

He was rewarded with another smile, "Oh, really? Do you mean it?"

She clapped her hands together like a pleased child and grinned brightly as he nodded. She seemed to be overcome with happiness, as she then stood on her toes and kissed him soundly on the lips. When she realised her actions, she blushed brightly and looked down, embarrassed. Jaime laughed softly and kissed her forehead in response.

"Get some sleep soon. We'll set out early in the morning." Without waiting for another burst of physical affection, he left the smiling girl in her room and headed down for a few hours of men arguing pointlessly.

He made the decision to return to her rooms after the council had adjourned. He was tired and wanted to sleep, but he wanted to sleep with her, for some reason. He excused himself from thinking about it by telling himself it had been a long time since he slept with his wife and there was no crime against such a thing.

The door was unbarred and he walked in quietly. Undressing quickly, he slipped into the bed where she slept soundly. Her hair was bound in a loose braid and she wore the slip from earlier. Careful to only touch her gently, he wrapped an arm about her loosely and laid his head down on the pillow next to hers. He heard her murmur softly and adjust her body slightly, but she remained asleep. And though he knew the peace could not last and that nothing good could come from this emotion, Jaime could not remember a time where he felt more comforted than that moment.

* * *

_Thank you, thank you for all the wonderful reviews! And a special thanks to delphine862 for being my 100th review. I thank you all for reading and reviewing as it really inspires me to keep writing. I'd like to address a couple of questions before I sign off. _

_1. Where's Luna? - Luna was left at Castlerly Rock as Merilyn didn't think she would be gone from home that long. Don't worry she'll be returning to the story with quite the dramatic scene. _

_2. Where did Willas come from/all the theories? - Allas, I cannot give this away as it is a little bit of the mystery to the story. But I will give away that Willas is NOT a Cersei spy. I love hearing the theories so keep them coming!_

_3. Smut? - There will be more scenes between the two. I just have to drink enough alcohol to write them. :) So be patient and it will come your way. _

_Thanks again for your continued support. XOXO Lady F _


	18. Chapter 18

Water dripped off her person onto the stone floors of Castlerly Rock. The rain had been relentless the past few days of their journey home and it soaked her through. She hardly knew the meaning of dry anymore. She wrung out her hair, using the cloth Septa Aliane had provided.

Willas was standing in the entrance hall, shaking his head back and forth, droplets from his hair flying all about. Including on Leila, who growled at him irritated. They all stood at the front hall of their home, escaping from the never-ending onslaught of water. Jaime had taken the horses and instructed Willas to take the women on inside.

Merilyn handed the sopping wet cloth back to the Septa and looked around the hall expectantly, "Where's Luna?" She smiled, "I'm surprised she didn't chase me down as soon as I entered the grounds."

Aliane averted her eyes and murmured to the ground, "Maester Culwin has locked her in the outdoor cages. Said she was killing chickens."

Merilyn stiffened, "In the outdoor cages?"

The Septa nodded nervously.

Willas had dropped his bickering with Leila and was observing their conversation warily.

Merilyn digested what Aliane had said, feeling anger course through her. No one other than she herself touched Luna, let alone cage her. Without a further word to her audience, she swept from the hall and back out into the rain.

The outdoor cages were out past the stables, further towards the piles where the servants dumped rotten food and other waste. Sick or injured hunting dogs had once been kept there, but now, after years of disuse, most were rusted over. The bars of the cages were wide enough to let rain through and even before she fully reached them, she saw her Luna crouched in furthest cage, water saturating her fur. As she strode further, she saw the grey fur mangled and matted, with dirt heavy set in it.

Luna caught sight of her and tried to stand up, waiting to greet her mistress happily. But her haunches bumped the top of the cage and she settled instead to thump her tail in recognition.

Merilyn seethed with anger. She grabbed at the opening of the cage and wrenched furiously. The lock clattered frustratingly and she immediately realised there was only one man who would have the keys in this moment. Forgetting she was tired, miserable, and freezing, she reached through the bars and stroked her beloved pet direwolf, whispering the soft promise of her freedom from captivity.

She whirled on her heels and ran back up to the castle. Brushing past Leila who was waiting uncertainly in the same place she had been left, Merilyn strode down the hall and down stone steps two at and a time. She flung open the heavy wooden door to the kitchens, hearing it crash upon impacting with the wall.

Culwin stopped lecturing one of the cooks about proper hen roasting mid sentence, and looked up at the intrusion.

Inclining his head, he greeted her, "Welcome home, my lady."

"To the seven hells with your formalities, Maester. You may not like me, or any of my decisions. That is at your own discretion. But would you explain to me what the fuck prompted you to believe you had the authority to touch _my direwolf_?" She wasn't yelling. Her voice was low, drenched as much as she was but with cold fury instead of rainwater.

Instead of offering apologies, Culwin sniffed haughtily, "The savage animal was running loose on the grounds and even in the castle, killing chickens and scaring children."

"Luna has never once killed on castle grounds. Keep your lies to yourself. I want the key to the cage now."

"For many years, I've looked after the welfare of this Castle. I will not be set aside by a cunt of a girl and her disgusting Northern creature."

Merilyn drew herself to her full height, "Maester Culwin, you are dismissed from the service of Castlerly Rock." She turned to the woman he'd been berating only a moment before, "Tell Willas that Maester Culwin's things will need to be moved." She turned back to the man himself, "Give me the keys."

Culwin laughed disbelievingly, "You cannot dismiss me. You're not the Lady of Castlerly Rock. Nothing you say has any true value. I've been here for over fifty years. I am Lord Tywin's most trusted advisor!"

Merilyn smiled coldly, "Do you see any other lady here, Maester? Is Lord Tywin here?"

"He is the only one with the authority to dismiss me."

"He is off playing soldier at Riverrun. I am here and you are dismissed. I will not tell you twice. Hand over the keys and be off."

Culwin sneered and pushed past her, "We'll see what your good husband says about this."

Her stomach dropped as she followed the Maester up the stairs, running to keep up with him. She remembered her mother fighting with her father once, something that rarely happened. Her mother's calm forcefulness had won the argument eventually and after, Catelyn had told her daughter that anger never one the battle, but certainty in one's decision did.

Jaime stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at them as they both came from the kitchens. He was dripping wet, as well, and seemed to brace himself for the oncoming disaster.

The Maester spoke first, loudly, "Your Lady has requested my disposal, Ser."

Jaime raised an eyebrow, "Is this true?"

"No, my lord, I requested no such thing. I told Maester Culwin he was dismissed. There was no asking involved." If she was going to tell the Maester that she was the Lady of Castlerly Rock, then she damned well was going to act like it.

"Lord Jaime, I've only ever served House Lannister faithfully. There are no grounds possible for this decision."

There was a pause and then Jaime's cold voice cut through the silence, "Maester Culwin, what is my wife?"

Merilyn stood stock-still as the Maester looked from Jaime to her in confusion.

"I'm not sure what you mean, my lord?"

"My wife is what? You seem so intent to prove your loyalty to House Lannister, yet you seem to forget a vital fact. You have no answer? Then I shall answer my own question. My wife is a Lannister. Our children will carry the house name. She wears the colours with pride and has continually done nothing but serve the name of this house well. And, yet, you presume to be above her, do you not?"

The Maester opened his mouth and then shut it, lowering his gaze to the floor. There was a moment of paused silence, until he cleared his throat, "You are right, my lord. I beg your forgiveness."

"It is not my forgiveness you need. If you're through acting like children, I have actual things to do." The venom had gone from his voice and he seemed almost bored now. He'd made his point.

Merilyn felt like being either embarrassed or smug. His reference to their being children was a direct hit at her, she felt. But the fact that he had called her a Lannister, set her with his family, made her feel rather giddy. She remembered again how much a Stark her own mother was, forsaking her Southern family name to encompass everything a Northern Stark was. She had done something very little women in their marriages accomplished. And Merilyn felt brief hope that maybe she was more like her mother than she had ever thought.

"My Lord, as I am willing to admit my insubordination was out of line, I am unwilling to see my actions of chaining a dangerous animal as –"

"Give the Lady the keys, Maester. We can discuss this later," Jaime's tone moved from boredom to impatience suddenly and the Maester handed over the keys hurriedly without another word.

Merilyn ran from the castle forgetting all about propriety and raced back to the cages, unlocking and wrenching the door open in record timing.

Luna jumped out happily, throwing her mistress down into the mud. She ran her hands over her direwolf's coat, feeling relief at seeing her out of the cage. The matted fur covered the fact that Luna hadn't been fed well. Her fingers grazed across her jutting ribcage and Merilyn felt her heart clench painfully. The rain pounded rhythmically down around them, pouring down her face so heavily that she didn't realize she was crying.

"I'm so sorry, Luna. So sorry," she whispered softly, burying her face into Luna's neck, "I should never have left you. Please forgive me."

She couldn't imagine how her direwolf – who had never seen chains in her lifetime – had felt being shoved into a cage too small and too restraining. The injustice of it all burned in Merilyn's throat. The tears fell freely now, competing aptly with the rainwater. Sobs wrenched from her echoed around the yard, and her entire body shook, from emotion or cold she didn't know. But it was uncontrollable, overcoming common sense. She was kneeling in the mud, clutching her monstrously sized wolf, weeping as if the world was ending.

She had no idea how long she'd been crying. The tears still fell, her voice was now hoarse from sobbing, and her shaking had become near impossible to control. Luna's excitement had faded, though she still wagged her tail occasionally, and she sat still enjoying the arms around her. Suddenly, the direwolf stood up, breaking Merilyn's grip around her and wagged her tail happily.

Boots splashed through the mud and came to a stop in front of the Lady Lannister.

Merilyn looked up to see her husband, staring down at her impassively. She hiccupped and tried to take a deep breath, which became a sob almost instantly. The embarrassment flooded her and she looked away, down at the ground. She felt arms wrap around her and haul her away from the ground.

Jaime trudged towards back to the warmth of the indoor. Luna followed closely behind, trailing his heals. Merilyn took shuddering breaths feeling entirely embarrassed by her display of emotion. He entered the castle and strode past Septa Aliane and Leila; up the stairs and to the room they had shared for less than a week many months ago.

Luna immediately crossed the room and sat by the stoked fire, happily splaying out on the skin rug. Jaime set Merilyn upon her feet and then immediately set about untying her laces and dropping the dress to the floor. Her underclothes were as soaked as her dress had been and without so much as a by your leave, Jaime had relieved her of those as well. She lifted her hands to cover herself, though her husband hardly seemed to look at her at all, instead picking her up once again and depositing her into the steaming tub in the corner that she hadn't noticed until now.

She yelped once upon first coming into contact with the water, but it quickly turned to a sigh of happiness as she felt the cold melt away from her. She sat still for a moment, watching as Jaime sat in the chair farthest away, his gaze wandering to the flames. The stillness of the room invaded Merilyn's mind and she stifled any urge to start conversation. There wasn't much she could say beyond 'sorry for crying for no apparent reason after you so willingly left your family behind in King's Landing, merely because I asked.' Instead she laid her head against the back of the tub and closed her eyes.

"I forget how young you are sometimes."

Her eyes flew open and she raised her head, looking at Jaime. He sat relaxed in the chair, his feet propped up on the nearby stool. He was looking directly at her, green eyes seemingly pinning her in place.

"Quite often you act as if you've passed thirty namedays. You stand tall and cold without a glimpse of weakness or emotion. And I forget to remember you are but sixteen, a child. Even my sister had been older than you upon her own marriage." His voice was soft, thoughtful. He looked at her as if he had never really seen her before.

He stood up and paced about the room. His strides, slow and steady, carried him from one end of the room to the other and back again. Luna's head perked up at the first sign of his movement and after a few moments laid her head back down again.

Merilyn saw the tenseness of his shoulders, the furrowed brow, and felt a stab of fear that her crying had angered him. She was a fool. She'd tried to fill the role of the Lady of Castlerly Rock and instead had broken into tears like the child she was. Her mother would be furious at her actions. She felt her eyes burn in humiliation and she discreetly wiped the corners of her eyes quickly.

Jaime's pacing stopped abruptly, "I don't know how to do this. Marriage was never supposed to happen, not in my life."

She laughed bitterly, "It was always supposed to happen for me. There never were any other choices. That doesn't mean I know implicitly know how marriage works."

"You've been nothing but complacent about it, never fighting or screaming against the injustice of it all. If I were you, I would've tried to run home at least three times by now."

"Back home to what? Septas and lessons, bickering siblings? No, Ser, there is nothing to go back to."

Jaime sat wearily in his chair and ran a hand through his hair, "I don't want you to be miserable."

"Who says I am?"

"I suppose crying in the middle of rainstorm could speak of ecstatic happiness," he drawled.

"I was tired and overwhelmed from being back. That is not misery."

"Do you repeat these things to yourself until you even begin to believe them?"

She rolled her eyes. He didn't get it. How could he? He had never lived a life of preparation for one thing. He could not possibly know her sheer terror as a young girl about being tied to a beast of a husband or never being given to a husband at all. His duty to his family differed completely from her own.

Feeling sudden inspiration, she rose slowly from the bath, feeling the cold hit her like a wave. She picked up the silk robe lying nearby and wrapped it loosely about her. Jaime watched her movements carefully. She stifled her nervousness and stepped towards him, slowly, confidently. She'd watched women at King's Landing seduce their lovers carefully and deliberately. She tried to copy them as she walked towards him, their coy glances and graceful movement. His eyes were still upon her as she reached his chair. She could feel his body heat radiate through his wet clothes and imagined she could hear his heartbeat she was so close.

She straddled him on the chair, her knees bent and tucked underneath her as she rested her full weight upon his hips. He inhaled once and stiffened as her hands landed on his shoulders.

"It could be so much worse," she whispered into his ear, her voice breathy and low. Her hands moved from his shoulders down his chest and began to untie his shirt. "You cannot imagine the horror stories I've heard of young girls marrying old men," she lightly kissed his ear, "men without hair, men with wandering hands and cruel tempers. I heard them all."

His shirt opened and she pushed it off of him slowly, trailing her fingers along the newly exposed skin. She heard a sharp intake of breath from him and stifled a smile. Their roles had certain switched.

* * *

Jaime's head was spinning like a small child's play toy. One second she'd been crying in the rain, resembling the most vulnerable embodiment of a wound, and the next she was straddling him, pushing him past the limits of his tolerance.

Her breath was warm on his neck, moving up to his ear. He wanted to touch her, but felt stuck in the very same position, as if his hands were tied to the arms of the chairs. He was trying hard to concentrate on what she was saying, but her touch was delicious on his chest making it difficult to understand her soft whispers.

"You've never once raised a hand to me." She kissed his neck, lightly sucking on his pulse and lightly etched patterns on his skin with her nails. "You've listened to me, protected me, treated me as more than a common tool to be used and set aside as necessary."

Jaime leaned his head back against the chair as his wife slowly kissed her way down his chest, her tongue darting out every few seconds. She pressed her hips more firmly to his in a small rocking motion and they both sighed at the new pressure.

As she moved back up to his neck, she grazed it with her teeth, causing him to buck up slightly and rub against her. She let out a soft moan, but kept about diligently to her task.

"You even have all of your teeth," she pulled back and smiled directly at him, before leaning in and capturing his mouth with her own.

He didn't realize how badly he had needed to kiss her until their tongues met. He pushed forward into the kiss and finally moved his hands to settle upon her hips. He gripped and squeezed interchangeably, relishing the feel of her soft flesh being molded by his touch. Their kiss lasted until she pulled away to gasp for breath. Jaime took that moment to untie her slight robe and pushed it past her shoulders to fall to the ground. He moved one hand languidly from her hip to cup a breast, feeling her nipple already taut from the cold. He casually ran a thumb across it, feeling her leg muscles tighten immediately at the touch.

She looked more self-conscious now that she was bare and her hands seemed to fret uncertainly, skimming his shoulders restlessly, as if she didn't know what to do now.

He smirked and slid the hand that had been fondling her breast, down low past her stomach and in between her legs. He smoothed one finger into her folds and felt her wetness drip forth. If he hadn't already been as hard as a rock, he instantly became so upon feeling her arousal. He pushed two fingers into her with ease and pressed his thumb against her clit, eliciting a louder moan. His other hand set an easy rhythm, guiding her hip's movements as she rocked against his two fingers and thumb.

The last time they had done this, her face had been covered in shadow, preventing him from seeing her reaction. But now, in their room, the fire lit her face perfectly, showing the mesmerizing delight on her face as she let go and enjoyed what Jaime was doing to her. There were drops of sweat upon her brow and her eyes were screwed shut as she panted and moaned, trying hard to reach her climax against whatever friction he would give her.

Suddenly, he needed to see her blue eyes darkened with lust, "Look at me," he commanded, slowing the motion of his hand.

She whimpered at the loss of movement and her eyes flew open, meeting his gaze with a mixture of confusion at his request and desperation to reach her peak.

"Don't look away," he grunted, continuing his motion from where he left off.

She whimpered more loudly with her mouth slightly open. She managed to keep her gaze from wavering though.

Her eyes were even more expressive than her face was. Dilated and swimming with desire, the blue Tully color was never more impossible to Jaime than it was then. The sparkling sapphire seemed to speak to him in ways that her mouth never would. There was adoration, desire, maybe even respect. They looked into his green eyes, wanting acceptance, looking for approval from him, he realised suddenly. She needed his recognition, needed to know she was someone that was wanted, that she was necessary to him. The knowledge of that stunned him for a moment.

He moved his hand from her waist to pinch an erect nipple, twisting slightly, satisfied as he heard her surprised huff. She thrust forward violently against his hand and he picked up his pace, rubbing his thumb even harder against her clit.

She convulsed then, reaching her peak and he felt her inner wall clench around his fingers. Overcome with desire at seeing her orgasm, he stood suddenly and crossed the room with her in his arms and laid her on the bed, forgetting to be gentle. Before she could start from surprise, he had undone his own trousers and sheathed himself inside of her.

He groaned at the feeling of her enveloping his cock, and he pressed her down onto the bed with one hand upon her hip heavily as he began to thrust in and out.

She gripped his shoulders, meeting his movements with her own, like a damned cat in heat. Her gaze met his own and he was hit with a wave of lust as his urgency grew stronger. She was so tight and warm and it had been more than a few moons since he'd had a woman. Everything about her was arousing, the pretended knowledge she had assumed, the shy modesty that was ingrained in her, the longing for his approval, and now the unbridled desire he was seeing in front of him.

She moaned loudly as he shoved forward harder and he heard another moan escape her in the form of a word, "Jaime."

The softly moaned word was his undoing and he pumped a few last times and then spent himself hard inside of her. He shuddered from his release and exhaled heavily. As he came down from his high, he realised he was lying upon her and hoisted himself upon his elbows to allow her breathing room again. One hand stroked her hair softly, moving it away from her sweat drenched face. She smiled up tiredly.

"I think I might have a better understanding now," she whispered.

He let out a bark of laughter and removed his cock from her.

He settled upon his side, looking down at her and laid an arm softly across her. They were both hot and still breathing hard from their bout. She moved slightly, curling against him and yawned once. He felt a tenderness creep upon him as he looked at her soft form.

He'd been irritated earlier upon finding her in tears. After such a performance against the Maester, he had expected to see a triumphant woman. Instead he saw the frailty and uncertainty that she hid so well. He had been tryin to give her a better life than what he'd seen so many young women condemned to, but her tears had mocked his actions and he'd felt a hopelessness settle upon him as he watched her in the bath. And then out of nowhere, she had surprised him.

She opened her mouth to say something further, but a knock on the door interrupted her.

Luna, who had been half-asleep throughout their whole escapade, stood then with raised hackles. Merilyn made to stand, startled by the fact that there were other people in the castle, but Jaime caught her arm and forced her to continue lying next to him. He reached down and brought the covers around them, covering her for her modesty's sake.

"Enter," he commanded, ignoring the horror-filled look of hers.

The door opened and Willas strode in. After briefly coming to terms with the happenings in the room, he steadfastly looked at the floor, "There's been a raven. From Winterfell, Ser."

Merilyn looked up at him, fear in her eyes. He kissed her forehead comfortingly. It almost felt natural, he thought surprisingly.

She looked at Willas then and reached out her hand, but he shook his head.

"It is for Lord Jaime."

Jaime stood then, completely naked, and took the parchment from Willas's hand. He then nodded towards the door as a dismissal to the boy. With a small bow, Willas left, shutting the door behind him.

Merilyn sat up, still clutching the sheet to her, watching him as he opened the letter.

"They write to you?" She asked, confusion heavy in her voice.

"It is from Lord Stark. Winterfell has been attacked. Your two sisters and youngest brother have been sent away. They seek safety here." Jaime felt his stomach churn slightly at the further details of the letter and understood then why Ned Stark had written to him instead of his beloved daughter. Jaime knew Merilyn would be torn at this news. Half of her ecstatic to see her family and the other half petrified with worry about the safety of her childhood home. He also knew she would leave the actual decision to him, and would not beg if he were to turn down the need for sanctuary.

He could see her entire body was tense as she waited for his reaction. Jaime tried hard to remember which siblings of hers were which but gave it up for a lost cause.

"Shall I send back saying they are welcome?" He half-teased her, wanting her to stop looking so scared of his response.

She smiled then and he felt he had done the right thing by her, for once.

* * *

_Gosh, I am sorry for the delay. This chapter was extremely hard for me to write, so if it's less than my norm, I apologize. I hope to update more quickly, but there aren't really any guarantees. Thanks so much for the continued support. And I'll say reviews always make me more likely to update._

_If you have anything you want to see coming up, let me know. Thanks again! xoxo_

_Lady F_


	19. Chapter 19

Merilyn chased after Septa Aliane urgently, directing her to place extra blankets in the room Rickon would be staying. She stopped at the top of the stairwell and wiped her hand across her forehead.

Her siblings' arrival was marked for today if the raven's tiding was correct and Merilyn's stomach twisted in knots every time her mind reminded her of this. In the week following the first raven's arrival, Merilyn had incited the entire household into a frenzied storm, much to Jaime's amusement. He'd spent the last week traveling Lannisport and every time he returned home, he was met with an exasperated household intent upon avoiding the Lady of Castlerly Rock.

Merilyn wasn't nervous of any sorts. She was torn between feeling fear for her family's safety and excitement that she would see her younger siblings. Jaime wouldn't tell her the details of the attack on Winterfell.

All the knowledge she was privy to was that her family was safe and the youngest children minus Bran were being sent down south to avoid any further endangerment. She knew her mother went to Riverrun. It was the only place she could think of that her mother would leave Winterfell for. Merilyn's guess was she went to gather reinforcements from her family home, but Jaime only shrugged in response when she looked for confirmation to this theory. She also assumed that Bran went with their mother, for she found it unlikely that her father would've taken Bran into even more dangerous territory than Winterfell.

Jaime slipped his arms around her, startling her from her thoughts.

She could hear the smirk in his voice as he spoke in her ear, "That's the third time you've told the Septa that Rickon will need extra bedding."

"At least you've begun to remember his name because I've reminded her so often," she said, sharply.

He laughed and kissed the side of her neck gently. Every time his lips touched some part of her body, her fingertips would tingle and her mind would go blank. It'd make her shiver and tense up, feeling delight and a lightness. She'd often wonder if over time that feeling would disappear.

"You cannot truly be worried that they've forgotten you or that their love for you has lessened any in your absence."

She shrugged off his embrace and continued on swiftly down the stairwell. Calling over her shoulder, she addressed his question, "Don't be absurd, my lord. I merely wish to make the transition as easy as possible. Rickon and Arya are still so young."

She could feel his eyes following her as she reached the end of the stairwell. She glanced back up once, to see him leaning one shoulder against the wall, a half-smile lighting his face. She smiled back briefly and then strode down the hall and past the door leading into the kitchens.

The familiar pushing against her calves alerted her to Luna's presence, though this wasn't unexpected, as her wolf never missed an opportunity to find scraps. Merilyn saw one of the cooks nod in her direction and gesture proudly to the line of food along the tables. She saw excess meat and bread piled high, and in the corner a pile of beautifully delicate lemon cakes.

Merilyn smiled happily and gratefully thanked the women in the hot kitchen, before turning around and walking back out. She knew she was just walking in circles now. There was nothing left to oversee. Everyone had done their jobs perfectly and she felt the household would rebel if she asked anything more of them. She wandered down the hall, restlessly.

Maybe she was nervous.

It almost felt like her father's visit to King's Landing, a repeat of her being unsure and tentative. But her siblings would be in _her _home, observing _her_ ruling over the household, watching _her _husband. She couldn't believe Rickon could really understand the implications behind it, but surely Sansa, and even young Arya, would watch her movements and decision-makings. Would they compare her to their own mother?

Merilyn shook herself from her thoughts. Her family was fleeing from dangers attacking their homeland and she was worried about what children thought of her household skills. She sighed and walked out into the courtyard, twisting her hands slightly to keep them busy.

The sun hit her face as she entered the courtyard, causing her eyes to squint. The air held the scent of warmth and summertime on it's breeze. She inhaled deeply, smelling salt from the nearby coast. If she listened quietly, she could hear the crash of wave upon rock and the cry of the birds as they dove down low. Castlerly Rock was beginning to creep into Merilyn's heart. It could never replace Winterfell, but she thought it was possible to hold them both high in her regard.

Jaime stood talking to a younger boy whom she recognized vaguely. He looked about fourteen and his blonde hair reflected the sun's rays brightly. She stared hard, trying to place his face. The boy nodded to whatever Jaime was saying and then he turned and pointed and Merilyn knew suddenly who he was.

Jaime sent the boy off with a quick pat on the shoulders and then walked over to her, smiling slightly.

She raised her gaze to look up into his face as he grew near and gestured to the boy who'd just left, "How is Boaden?"

She saw Jaime's eyes widened slightly, "The servant's whisperings are true. You really do know everything that goes on in this household, don't you? He's only visiting for a short time and you already knew his name."

She laughed lightly, "He was one of the boys injured during the first Wildling attack," her smile faded, "I had to remove one of his fingers. There was no setting process possible."

Jaime looked at her seriously, "He hasn't been changed in any permanent way that I can see. He's still the outgoing, adventurous boy that is always getting his hide tanned by his father for doing dangerous things he shouldn't. You most likely saved his life, not caused harm to it." He took one of her hands and pressed it gently, "He did say he saw the approach of your siblings."

Merilyn's shoulders tightened and she whirled to look at the direction the boy had taken off in, feeling excitement take hold. She squinted to see anything on the road that lead up the steep cliffs, but saw not even a speck of upheaved dirt.

"They are still a ways off. He was only notifying me that they had been spotted," she heard the humour in his voice as he spoke.

She turned back, "Are you telling me you've never once been excited at your own siblings' arrivals?"

His smirk faded and he gazed out past her with shuttered eyes, nodding curtly. He absentmindedly squeezed her hand again and then mumbled something about the stables and readying them, before turning away and walking in their direction.

Her gaze followed him as he trekked away from her. She'd noticed this on more than one occasion at the mention of his siblings. He withdrew from her or he made up some kind of excuse to leave her presence, immediately ending any inquiries about them. She wasn't upset by the rebuff of sorts. If he didn't wish to talk about something, she wouldn't take offense over it. But she wondered about it on more than one occasion about the reasoning behind it. He had seemed close with both his brother and sister. Merilyn knew for a fact that Jaime often sought out Tyrion for advice and his opinion, and there was no reason to dislike someone if you valued their voice on matters. Cersei was Jaime's twin, so they must've been close, if their relationship at all resembled anything like Robb and hers.

She sighed and pushed her thoughts from the forefront of her mind, and reached down to stroke Luna's fur as the wolf sat back on her haunches next to her mistress. Footsteps echoed behind her and she turned, expecting to see a jovially Jaime returning from his sulk.

Willas stepped forward at her side bereft of Luna and nodded his head in her direction, "My lady, they have been spotted less than a mile down the road."

She smiled gratefully and looked to the entrance to their courtyard, half hoping Willas would walk away. Instead of his knowledge of Jaime and her carnal activities discouraging his presence as she thought it would, it seemed to encourage it. When Jaime was away, Willas almost became her very shadow. She still had no understanding of why, but was loathe to start another fight with a valued member of the household after the debacle with Maester Culwin, who had left the castle none too gracefully.

She was about to ask Willas how he was doing when she saw dust clouds like those horses rushing over road would make and her heart leapt up choking the words from her.

She saw Rickon's face first. He looked ill, his colouring pale and his cheeks sunken, with darkened bags beneath his eyes. His gaze was trained forward and he saw her with unseeing eyes. He sat in on the tallest of the horses, in front of Ser Roderick, whose arm was clasped around his form as if to keep him in place.

Arya and Sansa followed on the same horse quickly after. Sansa looked windswept and only slightly paler than usual, while Arya looked around with a keen eye and an excited expression. She was enjoying the adventure and the new world around her.

Merilyn stepped forward with open arms as Roderick placed Rickon on the ground. Her little brother stumbled forward and clutched her shoulders with tiny hands, as if unwillingly to release her. He was shuddering slightly and his breathing was shallow. Her throat tightened as she hugged the slight body strongly and she swallowed several times to clear her throat, before trying to stand tall again. As she tried, she felt Rickon's body tense with fear and her heart ached for the scared boy. She picked him up swiftly and balanced him on her hip, looking at her sisters as they dismounted and came forward.

Arya rushed forward and hugged her waist with wild abandonment, "I've missed you, Mer! You've missed everything! It's so hot here. There aren't trees either. It's not pretty."

Merilyn laughed softly as she kissed the top of Arya's head, "Calm down just a moment, sweetling. You're going to drop from exhaustion if you keep jabbering on like that."

Sansa inclined head lightly and greeted her modestly, "I hope you are well."

Arya rolled her eyes at Sansa and looked back up at Merilyn, "Sansa has been practicing her 'court manners' for when the day comes that she will supposedly go there."

"I promise you, Sansa, it is not as beautiful as the songs say. And when are you supposedly going there?"

"When Father announces my betrothal, of course," Sansa said demurely, while tossing a deeply red braid over her shoulder.

"_IF _that even happens," Arya rolled her eyes again.

Sansa opened her mouth to retort, but Merilyn shifted Rickon on her hip and hushed them both.

"Willas, see that the men and horses are fed and then shown to their rooms." She directed and then stroked Rickon's brown hair back from his pale face, "Would you all like to eat now? The cooks have prepared some special foods. Including some lemon cakes."

She was rewarded with smiles from both Sansa and Rickon and a crow of happiness from Arya. Merilyn smiled widely and felt happier than she had in a long time, holding onto her baby brother and watching her sisters walk forward to the castle entrance.


End file.
